


Amor Virtutis

by cats_cradle



Series: Amor Virtutis [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Cliche, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Overprotective Thorin, Purple Prose, Sensual Thorin, Sex, Shy OFC, Strong Female Characters, Tumblr Prompt, Tumblr: ImaginexHobbit, made up characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:59:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7689007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cats_cradle/pseuds/cats_cradle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the Tumblr Imagine from ImaginexHobbit - Imagine being in an arranged marriage with Thorin</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I am not sorry for this cliche, purple speckled prose. Enjoy and feed the author with reviews. I promise not to bite unless requested XD

“If you have no army to support you, how will you secure your position?”

“What Balin says is true, Thorin,” Gandalf paused to draw on his pipe, puffing the smoke out from between his lips, “However, if the armies of the Dwarves will not aid you, then perhaps a different army can.”

Thorin stared at the party before him. Three men, all in their finest robes and between them a woman.

To look at them one would clearly know they were from the South. The men wore coverings wrapped high around their heads, their skin brown and leathered. Beards that lacked in length, but were wider than many a dwarf, they didn’t embellish them either.

They wore weapons beneath their black outer robes, a scimitar each on one hip and a curved dagger on the other, all clearly ceremonial. Though he didn’t doubt each man knew how to use them with fatal effect.

When he had met Balin and Gandalf at The Prancing Pony to discuss the news of his meeting at Ered Luin with the envoys from the other Dwarf kingdoms, he hadn’t expected this development.

Balin seemed all for it once Thorin had given over the news that not even Dain of the Iron Mountains would support their quest. They needed that army, and to be told there was an army awaiting his order if he so chose, had given him hope. He truly believed that with this wizard on this quest he would succeed in reclaiming his home and his birthright, especially if Gandalf could provide an army.

When he’d asked why this army would support him, Gandalf had cagily looked at him, muttered something under his breath that he couldn’t hear. The flare of hope fizzled out like a wet firework.

Wanting to strangle the wizard Thorin waited for the truth and when he got it, Balin was clearly on side with the wizard and Thorin was shuffled along to the private room at the back of the pub.

The men and woman before him were as much Southrons in that they lived in that part of Middle Earth. They were known as the Habai, they were a nomadic tribe that were under daily attack from the Harads and Corsairs.

Before too long the tribe would be enslaved and their ailing king knew the Habai needed a place of safety. They wanted to rebuild the city of Dale and live there under the rule of their king. Or rather their new king, once he’d married of course.

Which is where Thorin came into it.

And as he was told more of this union, his eyebrows rose higher and higher. All he had to do, literally, was come – inside their princess – and his job was done.

When Balin mentioned the Princess would be marrying the King of the Dwarves, the Habai chieftains had laughed and informed them, in very good Westron that Thorin was still free to take another wife, such was their ways.

It’s as they were freely discussing this that Thorin looked at the young woman. Really she was a child, if he hadn’t been told her age already he could’ve guessed. If she were a dwarrow, she would be firmly ensconced in the bosom of her family, still being mothered, and considered a mere babe.

To learn she was well over the age of marrying within the Habai was disconcerting. Yet as he listened to the chieftains the more he saw how much she didn’t matter. She was of a royal bloodline, like him, and yet he had more respect as a king in exile than she did.

Silence descended and Thorin pulled his gaze away and levelled it on Balin. The old advisor stepped away and Thorin followed.

“Tis a strange world they live in, Thorin.”

“Aye,” he agreed.

“Well, the decision is yours. They are not much to look at, but they’ve a number of them. Fighting Corsairs and the Haradrim takes skill and no small amount of courage. They’ll be no better than us at killing a dragon, I think.” Balin paused to smooth a hand down his long white beard. “But, I think they could keep back those who would think to take the mountain for themselves.”

Thorin nodded, “You don’t like their ways, ay lad?”

Thorin met his gaze, “She is chattel, expected to breed until her body gives out on her, then tossed away for another wife.”

Balin nodded, “There ways are strange, not our ways, but you would have an army, and the right to take a queen. I know your eye has wandered over Esta recently.”

Thorin smirked, he’d noticed Esta years ago. She was a beautiful dwarrowdam, but not what he wanted. Besides for a long time now he’d been getting the milk for free, an amicable arrangement with a widow. Really, would this sham be any different?

“It’s a win-win, Thorin. Likely,” Balin leant in, “You’d be saving the lass from a terrible fate.”

Thorin knew what he meant. The Habai were not tall like other men, they were not like dwarf or hobbit either. The Princess was shorter than them all, barely taller than Balin. Although dressed in coverings that left only her downturned eyes to his view, he could clearly see she was small in body.

Her body would likely not even accommodate him, let alone give birth to a dwarf-babe. Balin had the right of it, he was saving the lass. He held onto that belief tightly, knowing he would need it for the evening ahead.

He sighed, inclining his head sending a short prayer to Mahal he whispered to Balin, “Let us get this done.”

***

When the agreement was struck and a contract, written by Balin there and then waiting to be signed, the eldest chieftain Aban had clapped his hands and two women, dressed similarly to the Princess had appeared and taken her away. She was to be prepared for him. He didn’t know what that entailed. An hour later the women returned and in their language informed the Habai the Princess awaited her husband.

5 pairs of eyes looked at the King and Thorin felt the heat rise from beneath his collar inching up his throat. It had seemed distant before, knowing he’d be bedding that small woman. Now that the time was here, he felt like the prized stallion being led out the stable.

Aban moved first, leading Thorin to the room where he was expected to perform on command. It was alright for the Princess, she only had to lay there.

That thought brought him to a sharp stop. Oh, Mahal, he was going to bed a virgin. A virgin woman who had no say, not one word in what she wanted. Performance anxiety had never been an issue for him. Now, though…

He took a deep breath, remembered what he was gaining, what the Habai were gaining. He’d already promised himself he would not force a babe on this woman. All he needed to do was relieve her of her virginity, it would only ever be the once he would have to bed her.

He forced his boots onwards, a frown taking up residence on his face. He would get this over and done with and return her to her people in the order they could start the preparations for meeting them at Erebor.

The door was opened by Aban, the old chieftain walked into the room and straight over to the bed. In his own language he started barking commands. Thorin stepped in the room, over to the fireplace getting a good view of the small figure in the bed waiting for him.

Every word said by Aban had the girl jumping in fright. At this rate, Thorin would be trying to deflower a terrified bundle of nerves.

“My Lord,” Thorin snapped out when the harsh words took on a tone of vitriol. Aban ceased and looked at him with a look of sheer happiness.

“My King,” he performed some theatrical bow involving touching his forehead, chin and heart. “The Princess must please you. We will not stand for her not fulfilling her duty. I have informed her,” he stated those words with absolute glee, “Of the punishment should you not deem her worthy.”

“Out,” Thorin seethed the word between clenched teeth. “Out, leave me to my wife.”

He’d not meant to call her that, he didn’t even see it as a real marriage. But, he could not stand there, listening to this man any longer. He didn’t care if she laid there like a corpse, never would he tell this man she was unworthy.

Aban did his theatrical little bow again and left with a sharp glare at the girl. Thorin could only stare into the fire after the door click closed. He wished he had some strong alcohol. A couple of bottles of Dwalin’s whisky would be very welcome right about now.

***

Balin sat at the table in The Prancing Pony, staring into his ale, a couple of times he’d glanced at the ceiling wondering how Thorin was getting on. There was a funny side to this, not that he’d tell Thorin that of course.

“How bad is it?” he questioned the wizard.

Gandalf pulled his pipe out of his mouth, blew smoke through pursed lips. “It’s not as bad as you think.”

“And what, Master Wizard, do I think?” Balin knew the old goat had manipulated this union for another reason.

“The Habai and The Dwarrow are not as different as they seem.”

“Oh come now Gandalf, are not each of us too old for riddles.” Balin took a sip of his ale, flicking his gaze up to the ceiling once more.

“Both the Habai and the Dwarrow need to change to secure their future. Thorin may not see it yet, but he has quite the bride.”

Balin thought on this, true Dwarves held on to grudges and archaic traditions. Though arranged marriages were few and far between now. In past times, they had been common, and very unsuccessful.

Their race was not as plentiful either. They were still recovering from the heavy losses of Azanulbizar, and fewer children were being born to them. Many males chose their craft over marriage and family. Aye, Gandalf was right the Dwarrow and the Habai were both a dying race.

“Their king would see many of the old traditions changed.” Gandalf added thoughtfully.

“And you think Thorin would be the one to stamp it out?”

“Hmmm, stamp. Perhaps not, but seeing a new way of life for a tribe that is proud of its crafts.”

“Their crafts?”

Gandalf nodded at Balin’s question. The Habai have many skills, though they are not miners or makers of fine jewellery, their tapestries and cloth are much sought after. They would bring a great trade to Dale. Bring it back to its former glory.”

“So they are not without means, that’s good.” Balin agreed, casting another glance at the ceiling.

“Don’t worry, Balin. I have faith in Thorin that he will do right by his wife.”

Balin laughed, “Would it be your belief, Gandalf, that Thorin will make her our queen?”

Gandalf smiled amiably, “Balin, I have it on good authority that Thorin Oakenshield will only ever have one wife.”

That cheeriness mixed with certainty told Balin all he needed to know. Gandalf would never have let Thorin refuse this union.

“Would you have refused to aid the quest?”

It was Gandalf’s time to chuckle. “Of course, my dear Balin.” Balin shook his head and took another swig of his ale, he adamantly refused to look at the ceiling again.

***

He dropped his boot to the floor. Not more than a month ago he had enjoyed the attentions of the widow. They’d both been caught up with each other, trying to remove clothes that, in the end, they had fallen to the floor, and he’d ridden her hard on her fine rug. Only afterwards did they finish undressing.

Now, he was in this position where removing any more clothes seemed more like a death sentence.

His bride hadn’t moved, and she barely breathed. He’d had to focus on her chest at one point, to see the faint rising wondering if she’d died of fright.

It was then that he noticed how thin she was. It was like a twig lying under blankets. The ladies he was used to would have cast a formidable outline in that bed. Large, juicy breasts with plump nipples ripe for sucking. Wide hips, with him able to fit snugly between their legs sliding into them with the slightest of thrusts. He could unleash his full desire on them, knowing they could take all of him.

His passionate widow had the most amazing tongue and taking all of him in her mouth was an easy feat for her.

Thorin sighed, this was all about reclaiming Erebor. Firming his spine, he dragged the other boot off, stood up and began removing his clothes.

She didn’t look at him as he slid beneath the covers and Thorin laid down next to her, thinking frantically on how to proceed.

He leant up and blew out the candle on the bedside table, leaving only the fireplace to cast light in the room. Looking over at his bride, noticing her chest moved in frenzied breaths. He flopped back onto the pillows.

“I… I am r-ready, My King.”

The shaky whisper had him closing his eyes in abject loathing. She was a child, nothing more, and if Erebor were not so damned important he would leave this bed, this room, this town tonight and never look back.

Instead, he was obviously expected to make the royal sceptre stand up and take notice of a female he did not find sexually attractive, to pluck her – like ripe fruit – and then go sign a damnable contract to say he’d done the deed.

He flung the cover back starting to rise and turn away. Typical in the world of men, his feet barely reached the floor and he was about to slide off the mattress when a force impacted his back.

“I’m sorry, My King. Forgive me.” She was frantic as her arms came around him. Thorin turned and grabbed her up against his side.

“Calm down,” he commanded. “I’m not disappointed, My Lady.” He didn’t even know what to call her, they’d never said her name. Did they even name their women?

He pulled her back so he could see her face. He noticed the almond shape eyes first, large, brown pupils nearly swallowed the white. Her eyes shone with tears, and one lone tear fell to her cheek, rolling down to her chin near wet lips that gasped in shallow breaths.

He watched it roll down to her neck, her throat swallowing harshly, and his gaze roamed down to her chest. One small breast concealed behind the long curtain of black hair. The other, perfectly curved and tipped with a brown nipple.

His eyes took in the flat stomach. She was on her knees and he could clearly see the smallest strip of hair on her mound that led a trail down to her centre.

He was surprised and offended that his body actually felt a stirring at her nakedness. He grabbed the blanket and pulled it up to her chest wrapping it around her and holding it closed at her back.

“My Lady,” he waited for her to meet his eyes. “I propose an idea, that I believe you will find to your liking.”

She nodded for him to go on.

“My Lady, would you be against me telling your chieftains that we have laid together, and you are now my wife.”

“I… I don’t understand.” Her common speech was as good as Aban’s, just the slightest hint of that exotic accent.

Thorin licked his lips, explaining to her in simple terms. “We lie, I will say I have laid with you. You are now my wife.” He raised a brow hoping, like it did with his merry widow, that it would charm her.

It didn’t. Instead, she moved away from him, her body quivering in absolute terror. Shaking her head, she said something in her language, backing away from him.

“I don’t understand,” he reached out a hand and those tears fell, she sobbed into the blanket whilst still pulling herself away from him.

He stared at her, completely confused. The idea was sound, no one would…know!

Thorin looked down at his lap. Somehow he’d heaped a mighty insult on her. He’d tried to get her to take part in a major infraction against her people. One that likely bore harsh consequences for her.

“They will want proof, yes?” She nodded at him, those tears still falling.

Thorin heaved out a sigh, pulling some of the blankets that were left him on his lap. He turned to her. “What is your name?”

The change was instant. Her tears stopped and she looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Do you not have a name?” he frowned at that.

“Yes,” she finally spoke. “It’s just…”

When she didn’t continue Thorin turned fully, sliding one leg up making sure the blankets stayed in place.

“Tell me,” he spoke as softly as he could, hoping that she read in his face, his voice that he truly wanted to learn about her.

“Husbands, they call their wives what they want.” Her voice was so soft. There was no harshness in it, not like him, or other dwarrows.

“And what if I don’t wish to name you?”

She pulled her hair back from her shoulders, giving him a view of her angular face. “You call me whatever you want.” She shrugged indifferently, “Some call their wives by number.”

Thorin huffed out a sardonic laugh, “I’m having problems enough with one wife, I don’t think I’d be able to handle anymore.”

Her eyes darted up to him, and he could see he’d caught her attention. “Tell me your name,” he asked again.

She swallowed, “Hashana.”

“Hashana,” he tested the name on his lips.

She nodded, a slight smile curving that full bottom lip. He darted his eyes over to the far wall.

“My friend, he calls me Shana.”

“Your friend,” he raised an eyebrow, “You have only one?”

She nodded, eyes turning downwards. “And you say it’s a male friend.”

Her eyes darted up to his. “It is not improper.” She explained, “He is almakhsi.”

Thorin shook his head, “I don’t know this word?”

Shana blushed, now he was intrigued. “He has been…” she nodded to him as though he’d know what that meant.

“You’ll have to explain.” Thorin shifted forward, wanting to know what was different about this man that it made it not improper.

Shana looked everywhere but at him, before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

“He does not have…” she pointed at his lap. “It was cut from him.”

Thorin’s eyes bugged, and he couldn’t help closing his legs. “He’s castrated?”

Shana shook her head, “I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s what has been done to him, trust me on that.”

Thorin couldn’t believe that was voluntary. “Did he commit a crime?” he had to know, even though this conversation was wrong to any male.

“No,” Shana said simply, “It’s considered a high honour.”

“Honour!” Thorin would deny forever that that one word came out as a squeak.

“What honour is there in having your co—” he closed his mouth. “What honour is there in being castrated?”

“He was my protector,” Shana spoke as though defending the man. “Only an almakhsi can protect me. They are not tempted, they feel no desire.”

“I’m not surprised,” Thorin commented and he watched irritation pass over her face. “You care for him?”

Shana nodded, “He is my friend.”

“Surely you’ve had other friends?”

Shana shook her head, “I was not allowed outside my father’s tent. Only when we travelled did I leave his tent, and then I was always covered so no one could stare at me.”

Thorin stared at her, really stared at her until she dropped her gaze to her lap and pulled the blanket tighter against her shoulders.

The girl had led a life he could never imagine. Now, she was handed over to a stranger, and he was to ravish her, give her a name or number, and likely have her with child within a week.

No! No, this would not be the course of her life. So, he’d have to prove to the Habai that she was not a virgin. He could do that. But, when he took her maidenhead, Shana would be begging him for release. Tonight, he would make love to this young woman, he would show her the physical love of not just any dwarf, but their king.

Before this night was through, he would show her every pleasure.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are all enjoying this. A shout out to ChrisDurin and EbonyLeijon for their inspiring reviews and for everyone that left kudos. You are all wonderful, wonderful people.

 

* * *

 

Sliding back into the bed, Thorin held out his hand for Shana. He wanted her to choose to come to his side. So he sat there, hand outstretched giving her all the time she needed.

He watched her suck her bottom lip in, thinking over this puzzle that he’d become to her. Finally, her hand clasped his, and he tugged her gently towards him.

When she was beside him, blanket held to her chest by one arm, he looked into her mahogany eyes. “Shana, if you would allow me,” his voice dropped to a low rumble. “I would like to make you my wife.”

He watched her bafflement. This sweet lass didn’t know what to do. It was clear that never had she been given a choice to decide her own destiny.

“I will not lay with you, if you do not wish it, Shana.” Her eyes flicked to the door. “If need be, I will tell them that it is I who am unworthy. I who cannot…perform.”

She looked into his eyes, seeking the truth. He would do it, as emasculating as it would be for him. He would do it, for this slip of a woman.

* * *

Shana stared into blue eyes. They were bluer than the sky on the clearest day, she wondered if his eyes were blue like the ocean she’d never seen. They were exotic, all her people had brown eyes. If she bore him an heir, what colour eyes would their child have?

She allowed her gaze to wander down his straight nose, to his lips, surrounded by his beard, down his throat to his chest. His chest was covered in hair that a part of her wanted to run her fingers through. His shoulders were covered by his long hair, a braid on each side hung down over his shoulders, held firm by a silver bead. Those braids led her eyes once more down to his chest. The hair fanning out, yet leaving the pale pink of his own nipples exposed.

She couldn’t stop her stare dipping lower, following a thinner trail of her down his belly disappearing under the blanket. She wondered what he would look like. Ghalib, one of the chieftains that had brought her here had brought two of his wives and they had explained what to expect.

His thing would be hard, thin and straight like an arrow though not big, he would push it into her and stab her a few times. Apart from the pain she knew would come with it, Shana knew she could do this, had to do this. Her people needed safety, and her father was weakening every day.

She had been raised to accept her duty as a good wife to always please her husband. To obey his command, and not talk unless allowed. Well, she could obey his commands, and would try to remember not to talk as much.

This dwarf-king was prepared to say it was he who could not take her maidenhead. He didn’t understand what that would mean for him, for her.

A part of her would not allow him to lie. He was so different to her, wider, muscular than the men of her tribe. Powerful, yet his touch was gentle. She knew that right now she didn’t want to deny herself this experience. Even if it would be painful. She wanted to lie with him as his wife.

Before she could stop herself, she pulled the blanket away. “My King,” she forced her voice to be strong. “Make me your wife.”

She expected him to push her down, take her virginity. Instead, his face was warmed by the barest of smiles. It was extraordinary how the smallest of movements could change him so much. Shana stared at his lips, finding pleasure in that smile.

His hand caught her chin and raised it up. His head lowered, and he moved so slowly until their lips met in the briefest slide together. Before he parted from her, his blue eyes gazing down at her. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. She obeyed as his mouth came over hers, slanting his head slightly as they began to fit together like lock and key.

His tongue drifted over her lips and she couldn’t help as they parted licking her lips. She could taste him. He kissed her once more and this time, her mouth opened as she found her tongue chasing the spicy taste of him.

She must have done something right as the pressure of his lips against hers increased. She followed his movements, learning from him. He pulled away slightly to nip at her bottom lip. She didn’t want to mimic him too much, so instead of a little nip, she sucked his bottom lip between hers.

He groaned, pulling away, whispering something foreign before taking her mouth again. His hands ran up and down her back, the sensations causing a quiver in her spine, the resulting shudder making her arch back over his hands.

His lips moved to her throat, and she couldn’t help her own cry. This excitement inside her. It couldn’t be contained, it seared and simmered needing an outlet.

He arched her back over one arm and his lips trailed wetly and warmly over her breast. His tongue licked over her nipple and she froze. His breath wafted against her, the heat creating a moisture on her body. She couldn’t move, if she moved she feared the loss of what was building inside her.

So she waited, her breathing shallow, energised. A part of her wanted to raise her nipple, all perked up for him, to his waiting mouth. She tried to pull herself closer. Her eyes met his, and she tried to plead with him just with her gaze. “Do it,” he bit out.

Taking her hand from his shoulder, knowing she was supported by one strong arm, she moved it to the underside of her breast and lifted her nipple to his hot mouth. His tongue flicked out, the flat of it running over her nipple before swirling around it. It made it only stand up straighter, tightening the skin. She tried to pull herself away, it was too much.

“No.” This time, it was his voice that was more plea than command and she could not deny him. She lifted her breast back to his mouth, higher this time. His whole mouth came down on her, sucking hard, swirling with his tongue. His free hand came up to play with her other breast. His hand engulfing it, her nipple caught between his fingers. He plucked at it, hard. The sensation flew through her body and finished between her legs. She slapped her thighs together, needing something there.

Rubbing her thighs together, she discovered helped to ease her body slightly as he played with her breasts. His mouth was now freely moving between the two. She discovered when he rubbed his beard against the underside it was as though lightning ran through her body. Rasping his beard over her nipples was more powerful. She couldn’t describe it, except it was pleasure and pain mingled.

When his teeth scraped her swollen nipple, whilst his other hand pinched and teased she felt the burning. It spread through her and she cried out to him. “I’m burning!”

His reply of, “Good.” Sent her mind into some kind of haze and it seemed as though she could take no more. She cried out, clinging on as her entire body flamed up. She arched back, her legs trying to kick out, her fingers clawing at him, then it ebbed away like a candle guttering out and her body lay limply in his arms.

She felt ashamed, wanted to cry, she couldn’t understand what was wrong with her. Shakily she forced her head up to look at him. She wanted to apologise, but the moment she opened her mouth she burst into tears.

* * *

 Thorin had seen passion before, both real and faked. Never this powerful, though. The moment she started sobbing he forced back the smile of pride, pulling Shana against him to comfort her. Never had he brought a female to climax with just touching her breasts.

A part of him wanted to do it again, to keep doing it, just because he could. Though that would not bring their night to the close that others waited on. Still he would not rush her. She would need to understand what had happened. He’d seen the red shame on her face. Likely, she was crying because she thought she’d done something wrong. He would teach her that everything she did was right and so perfect.

If the night progressed, she would be deliciously eased into womanhood, and he would experience that passion again. He wondered why he was doing this. He could just take her now, no doubt she was ready, but he knew deep down a part of him wanted to experience everything. Not just experience, he admitted. He wanted to do this again and again. Not just tonight, but other nights.

He shook his head, this was dangerous. But that same part cajoled that she would be his wife, and once she understood her passion, that what had happened was normal and pleased him. Oh aye, this lass would be welcoming him to their bed.

Balin had said earlier it was a win-win situation. Thorin agreed heartily. Even his merry widow couldn’t fake Shana’s climax. It was refreshing, dare he say it made him feel young, virile. It opened up possibilities for him, but also brought questions he was not prepared to think on, right now.

No, he would focus on tonight. That was all that was truly open to them really. It’s not like he could take her with him.

Her breath hitched on a quiet sob and Thorin hadn’t realised he’d been tenderly rubbing her back. Finally, she quietened and he pulled her back enough to see her face.

“I’m sorry,” she moaned, refusing to look at him.

“Shana, you must not be sorry for what is natural.”

“Natural,” she bit out the word, then seemed to remember herself and clamped her mouth shut.

Oh, no. there would be none of that. Lifting her face to his, he locked gazes with her so she would know he meant every word. “You will talk to me. Never will I command you. I am your equal, as you are mine. Is this clear?”

He watched her eyes tear up. Not again, he pleaded. She pushed them back, forbade the tears to fall. It would be hard for her, he understood that more than most. He was pleased though to see her trying. She was not used to freedom like this, so, for now, he would have to handle her tears carefully.

“This is clear, My Ki—My Husband.”

He smiled at her. She was proving to be a fast learner. Oh, the possibilities that ran through his mind. “Please,” she began, testing her new found equality, “Make me your wife.”

“Oh aye, lass.” Thorin pulled her lips to his, “I fully intend to.”

He started slow, setting her body to simmer with slow, moist kisses over her face, her neck. Her skin, sun-kissed and soft with a hint of sweetness from whatever had been rubbed into her skin.

His fingers laced through the thick strands of ebony hair, gently tugging her head back. He licked a path from the hollow of her throat up to her chin before sucking on her full bottom lip.

Her hands drifted over him, tangling in the hair on his chest. Her nails scraped over an old scar and he couldn’t help the hiss that escaped.

Suddenly she pulled away, his fingers catching in the fine tangles of her hair. Her hands pushed at him and he sat upright, her hands settling on his shoulders as she pulled herself closer to him.

She didn’t meet his eyes and he wondered what he’d done wrong to dull the desire that had been licking through her. Her face showed intrigue and he watched as one hand rose to his chest. She slid her fingers over his chest until she found it.

She mapped out every scar on his chest. Her eyes, when they came to him, were sad, “Such a tale of life, My Husband.”

He wasn’t ashamed of his scars, he’d earned every single one. They were his badges of honour. Settling both hands on his chest, she spread her fingers wide, pushing out, sliding up, taking in every part of him. It was he who was supposed to be seducing her, but this gentler touch had him closing his eyes, breathing ragged, as she learnt him carefully.

When he could take no more he grabbed her wrists. “Careful, Shana.” He liked the way her name rolled over his tongue, and he could see it pleased her. “My control has its limits. I would not see you harmed, but your gentle touches test me.”

He watched the woman flare up in her eyes. Oh, Mahal, his wife was a fast learner. She was eloquently learning the subtle art of seduction and desire and using her newly gained knowledge on him.

“Is it wrong for me to want you to lose control?”

“Tonight, yes.”

She watched him closely and he held nothing back, as difficult as it was for him to be so open. Her chin came up, and keeping the smirk of pride from his lips at her small show of courage he shook his head.

“I would not hurt you this night. Allow me my control, Shana.”

She backed down with an incline of her head and she pressed a kiss to a scar on his left shoulder. His hands came up once more, and he ran them over her shoulders, down her arms to her hands. Clasping them he pushed them back, moving her hands to her back as his lips came down to caress her shoulders, down to her collarbone, moving down, down until he could slip one puckered nipple between his lips and set her aflame once more.

* * *

It seemed he spent an eternity mapping her body, Shana watched every kiss, felt every lick. Her body wouldn’t keep still, and when she tried to fight it, he would tell her not to.

Although she’d never had a lover, she was no stranger to her body. Bathing herself meant touching everywhere. She could never remember so many places on her body being this sensitive.

The underside of her breasts, the crease of her arm, the spot just below her belly button, the back of her knee. Places she’d scrubbed often, but had never made her wriggle, gasp, arch up in desire.

Yet, there were places she needed him to touch. Her nipples seemed to stretch out to him, and the inside of her thighs tingled in anticipation when his lips were near. It was her centre and inside of her, that thrummed.

She didn’t know what to ask of him, only that his nearness caused a delicious hum inside her. She tried to focus on the sensation but was caught off guard as he sucked one toe into his mouth, nipping at its tip.

It was building again, her natural reactions to him. Her hips thrust up on their own and she pressed both hands to her belly. Emptiness pervaded and she cried out. He seemed to know, as he slid his body up hers, hair and skin sliding against her. His braids had a life of their own, the cold silver beads scraping against her heated body.

Finally, he loomed over her, clasping her hands, linking their fingers as he pushed her arms down beside her head.

She felt it then, it wasn’t thin and straight like an arrow. It was hard, and wide more like the thick tent poles. It would fill her, and she didn’t care if it stretched her too much. She just needed this emptiness to go away.

It parted her folds and rubbed at the small nub she knew existed but had never felt like this before. Muscles she didn’t know existed clenched inside her, and her hips thrust against him, as he kept rubbing against her.

The thrumming was deeper now, so pronounced it was like she had developed a second heartbeat. It fluttered inside her waiting impatiently. Her senses sharpened, hearing his every breath, his scent surrounded her, that male spiciness making not just her mouth wet for him.

In the dimness of the room, her sight sharpened on him and everywhere they touched she burned. Only gasps and moans came from her, speech no longer possible as this need built. When he thrust against her once more she felt it flame up, consume her.

He shifted and in her ecstasy she felt him fill her, the slight pinch of pain only succeeded in throwing her back into the flames her hips rising against his.

* * *

Thorin clenched his eyes shut. It was done. He wanted to take her hard, make her know she only belonged to him. That part of him demanded he plant a babe in her belly tonight.

He could do none of that and he found it testing his control sorely. Finding himself using that calmness he had reached for many times when in the heat of battle. He slowed his breathing, tipped his head up to stare at the ornately carved headboard and began to slide out of her.

She tried to free her hands but had to settle for gripping his fingers tightly. He watched that fear in her, not of him, but of him pulling out of her body. He washed the look away as he slid back in. By Mahal! She took him, every inch and he watched her face smooth over as he settled in deep.

Slowly he inched out again, and her hips followed trying to keep him inside her. She was marvellous. Never had a lover responded so eagerly to him. He slid in once more, quicker, harder and her legs circled him.

Her soft feet slid up the back of his thighs, and the feelings inspired by that move had him pulling out and pushing back in quicker.

Her lips caressed his chest, and her mouth found one flat nipple. She sucked at it, the flat of her tongue pressing it up in her mouth scraping it against her teeth.

Current shot through him and he couldn’t help the snap of his hips. His thrust had her tearing away to cry out. He stared down at her, as she brought her mouth to his other nipple, and repeated her actions. He was breaking.

He, king of the dwarven kingdoms, heir of Durin, victor of Azanulbizar, destroyer of Azog the Defiler. He who had led his people to safety, and had never given in, never given up, was breaking at the hands of an exotic sprite.

She scraped her teeth over him, sucking hard. Inside her, he felt her muscles clench down on him tightly and he broke.

Ripping his hands from hers, he grabbed her, and without losing contact with her body hauled her up the bed.

“I warned you.” She smiled at his words.

Her legs clenched at him, and he raised one brow as his hand shot out to grab the headboard. “I warned you!”

Using the firm wood as leverage his other hand locked around her thigh pulling it up to his waist, and with a growl, he slammed into her.

Thrust after thrust, he pounded into her. He’d thought her first cry had been one of pain, but her fingers clutched at him as her hips began matching his frenzy. He thrust harder, deeper his own voice mingling with hers. Grunts, growls, screams and cries. It was perfect music to him.

She exploded around him, and he prolonged her release by grinding his hips against hers. Setting off a smaller climax. She began to come down and he sought his own completion, it was beating at him, starting in his lower back, first just tingles then a heavy sensation that had him panting against her chest. It was agony and ecstasy and as it loomed up on him he remembered his oath.

It was the hardest thing he’d done. Pulling out of her and fisting his cock, squeezing and pumping until he spilled over her belly and breasts.

* * *

Her life was shadow and sensation, that was all, she was sure, remained of her. She didn’t even think her physical body existed anymore.

She felt heat splash over her and it seemed enough to pull her back into her body. He was above her, staring down at her. She looked at her chest, looking at the silvered rivulets decorating her body. She couldn’t help reaching out a finger and touching the cooling liquid. She realised what it was, and for no reason other than because she wanted to, Shana brought her finger to her mouth and tasted him so intimately.

He groaned and collapsed on her, his lips meeting hers as they shared his taste. Ghalib’s wives were wrong, or perhaps it was the males of her people that were wrong. This joining was amazing, it touched her very spirit and made her soar higher than the birds.

It was beautiful and perfect.

“I think you’ll be the one to kill me.”

She frowned at his comment. “I would never—”

“Shh,” he placed his fingers over her lips, unable to help herself Shana flickered her tongue over the tips. “No, don’t do that.” He seemed drained at her action.

“No, don’t do that.” 

He sounded drained at her action.

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me, Shana. I’ve never made love to any female like that. I’m wondering if I’d survive it again.”

She held his gaze as he slid his fingers through her hair, his face was contemplative and she let him muster his thoughts. “I never thought it could be like this.” His admission was whispered. “I find myself wanting you again.” Already he was hardening against her. She was sore, feeling bruised, but thinking of him touching her was too tempting. She nodded her assent, moving her legs.

He shook his head, “Not now.” He pulled away, falling to his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. He laughed bitterly.

“I have no strength left, at all. I’m as weak as a new-born babe.” She turned her head and smiled at him. He must have felt her eyes on him, as he lifted an arm to look at her.

“My wife has undone me.”

That made her freeze. “If I had the energy, Madam. I would comfort you right now, and say to you, that you heard me right.”

She came to him instead, laying her head on his chest.

“How must I prove our marriage?”

Shana didn’t want to talk about it. It was humiliating, but it would need to be done to satisfy the old traditions. “The sheet, it would be…” she drifted off. His arm came around her tightly and he hushed her, placing a kiss on her forehead.

“I will take care of this. For now, I want you to rest.”

Shana nodded focusing on his deep breaths as it lulled her into sleep.

* * *

Almakhsi – Arabic for eunuch


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night at Bag End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to JUMPINGMANATEE, chrisdurin, EbonyLeijon and Kaity for their inspiring and motivating reviews. You awesome people are Chicken Soup for my soul <3
> 
> A special note to EbonyLeijon, I am using your idea, but I'm a couple of stories ahead, so I hope you don't mind waiting. Your idea will be used in the chapter set at Beorn's house.
> 
> If anyone else has any ideas they'd like to see in the story, leave me a review or head over to tumblr, I'm snugsbunnyfluff over there, leave me an ask XD

Based on the Imagine from ImaginexHobbit on Tumblr: Imagine being the real reason Thorin gets lost twice on the way to Bilbo’s house, and the reason he smirks while saying it.

* * *

 

Thorin stared at the overhanging trees, willows he thought they were called. Their long green fronds trailing down to the ground making the perfect hiding place for two people up to something never done in polite society, or at least never admitted to.

“Will it always be like this?”

He sighed deeply at the question, a smirk sliding across his lips as he dearly wished so. There was a fervent desire in him to lay on this ground, spongy and soft with lush green grass, and hold tight forever the beauty resting on his chest.

“Well, I could build you a home here, a small one mind you.”

Shana laughed, “No,” she punctuated her word by trailing her thin fingers through the hair on his belly, up to one flat nipple. “I meant us, will it always be so…”

He knew what she meant. This heat, this desire, this unquenchable compulsion. He’d thought that after a week of being beside her - inside her - that his ardour would cool. He’d asked his sister in private how he should act, what he should expect. Her advice was sound, coming from a dwarrowdam that had been married, yet what was between him and this woman was nothing like Dís had described.

For starters, they didn’t talk much, if you didn’t count the constant words screamed by them in passion. Secondly, Thorin hadn’t stayed at Ered Luin long enough to create a home for her. And she’d never cooked him dinner or mended his socks.

Aye to be sure it was the strangest relationship, but it was the most pleasing he’d experienced. Knowing this, he answered her as best he could.

“I truly hope so.”

The answer seemed to satisfy her as she slipped over him, a knee on either side of his thighs as she smoothed her hands over his chest, down his belly to his shaft that stood up waiting for her delicate hands. He should have stopped her, they’d been waylaid long enough. The night was dark, and they still had to travel to the hill at the end of the curious town.

But he didn’t. Instead, he groaned as she set to her task, hands sliding over him pausing at the tip of his shaft before sliding back down, a hand cupping his balls, massaging them speeding his way to completion.

He wasn’t about to be rushed, and he knew at least one member of his company who would make an excuse for his tardiness. Pushing that all aside he reached up grabbing her, wrapping his arms around her as he pulled her down and rolled them over. They’d been joined so often he could easily find her slick entrance and slid into her. Hers welcoming him tightly.

Yes, he could afford to be a little late with this exotic sprite arching beneath him.

* * *

Shana stood behind her husband where he’d placed her. It meant a lot to her that she was behind him not because he thought her so low, but because he’d explained, at all times he would stand in front of her as her shield.

The mark on the door, he’d explained to her, told him it was safe. However, he still would see with his own eyes that there was no danger to her.

She hadn’t expected this. When Aban had come to her, telling her she was to travel north to a land she’d never seen and marry someone she’d never heard of, she’d cloaked herself in her duty.

She’d expected a highborn lord, and instead, she’d married a king of dwarves who though shorter than a man, was regal and honourable. A proud dwarf who despite his initial disappointing stare at her had shown that he too valued duty above all else.

It was a common goal and something she knew she could work from.

She’d never expected this urgent need in her after he had introduced her to the marriage bed. A part of her felt wanton and another felt peace. He was a good dwarf, and she knew that this was a good match.

Her loyalty to him was fixed. She could trust this dwarf to honour his word and in return, she would give all that she was to repay him. Even if she was enjoying it greatly.

He knocked loudly on the door, three forceful bangs with his fist. Light flooded the little garden path they stood on, casting her husband in a glowing aura like he was some ethereal being.

“Gandalf. I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. Wouldn’t have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door.” She could hear the smirk in her husband’s voice.

She smirked as well, it was true they’d gotten lost twice, but they’d found the strange home buried in the hill sometime back, as they were passing a willow tree.

“Mark? There’s no mark on that door. It was painted a week ago.” The higher pitched voice had her curious, and she would have leant around her husband to see who it was. She knew it wasn’t Gandalf’s voice, perhaps one of this company she’d heard talk of.

Thorin’s hand reached behind him, and she willingly grabbed hold, allowing him to lead her into a warmly lit home with a rounded door and rounded ceilings and archways. It was beautiful and welcoming. There was love built into every part of this home.

Shana peered over her husband’s shoulder and saw a long wooden table through an archway. His people were gathered around it some darting their eyes curiously at her then back to whoever her husband was talking to.

“There is a mark; I put it there myself. Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Shana stood in the shade of her husband before he moved away and a man, with overly large, hairy feet and pointed ears came into view. He was dressed oddly in a patchwork coat, belted at the middle. His shaggy hair a light brown in colour, but his eyes. They were blue-grey and filled with kindness.

This little man, Bilbo, who was shorter than her, seemed a kind soul. Despite trying not to be intimidated by her husband as Thorin prowled around the man.

“Thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.”

Thorin’s words caused a laugh from those at the table and a bewildered look from Bilbo. Thorin’s gaze caught hers, and she frowned at his mocking of the little man.  She was surprised at her husband as he bowed his head slightly lowering his eyes in apology, to her.

He walked ahead of her after casting a glance at Gandalf, who seemed to be on the cusp of introducing her. Silenced by the look, Shana followed her husband regardless of his manners. Perhaps, she thought, Thorin wanted to make the introductions.

* * *

He’d said he wanted an equal in a wife. Shana glared up from beneath the hood of the cloak she still wore. She had not been introduced to all the other dwarves, even as she was passed over to a dwarf named Dori, with orders to seat her. She had merely been called his guest, nothing more despite the dwarf’s curious look at her husband.

The room was cramped and the dwarf with grey hair and intricate braids in his hair and a thick beard that was partially braided while its length was encased in a long silver case etched with angular designs so favoured by these dwarves.

He had been overly polite in shuffling her to a seat in the furthest corner away from her husband. It grated on her being so far away from Thorin. How quickly she’d come to valuing the safety, security and warmth of her husband’s body. Was she weaker in spirit because of it?

As her husband had been presented with food and all of them crowded back around the long table, her view of Thorin was cut off, and it seemed with her husband, out of sight was out of mind.

They didn’t offer her any food, any ale, not that she would drink it. But to be placed in a corner and forgotten like some discarded item. Not useful anymore. She would tell her husband, when he was free, and after she was certain he’d eaten and looked to his own care, of course.

Oh, she was useless. Being angry, yet still concerned for her husband’s well-being. She’d thought he would bed her once, and that would be it. Not that she would see a dignified dwarf, who gave his body to her freely. It was his fault all these tumultuous feelings.

And she would let him know, soon. Well, maybe when he was rested.

* * *

 She didn’t pay much attention to the shouting, when Gandalf had shown his power, going on about his burglar she’d sunk back in her seat in the corner. A quick glance from Thorin was all she was given.

As time went on that evening, her thoughts turned miserable. She knew that her husband was an exiled king and that this quest was about him taking back his kingdom and his right to rule. That was his reason for becoming her husband, her people were to help him secure his kingdom.

When one of the dwarves, a scruffy one with a hat had started talking about a dragon to their kind host, her eyes had darted to her husband. He paid her no more heed, whispering with Gandalf.

She’d never seen a dragon, she didn’t want to. Would he expect her people to fight the dragon or did he have some other way to kill this beast? She wanted to talk with him, wanted to be calmed and caressed and told his plans so that she would know her husband did not intend to sacrifice her people.

She wasn’t a fool to think some of the warriors of her tribe may die if others contested Thorin’s rule over his kingdom. But to throw them into the flames, quite literally was not what had been said to her father or the chieftains.

The host collapsing in a faint pulled her out of her thoughts, and she immediately stood ready to go to his aid. Slipping out the doorway near to her she was able to circle around and saw Gandalf leaning over the short man.

“My Lady, some water would be helpful.” Shana nodded at the request and quickly found the kitchen. She found a cup and filled it halfway returning to find Gandalf had pulled the sluggish man to his feet and was heading towards a room.

Placing him in a seat, Shana approached and proffered the cup, holding it as his shaky fingers circled the porcelain, touching hers. His hands were cold from shock, and he gulped at the water before he pulled his mouth away.

“I’m alright,” he looked up at Gandalf.

“Perhaps some tea might be in order.” Gandalf trotted off to the kitchen, and Shana was left with the small man.

“It was just a bit overwhelming, you know.”

Shana smiled at him, “I can understand that.” Perching herself on a footstool, she lowered the hood of her cloak.

“Gandalf didn’t tell me your name.”

“Hashana, of the Habai.”

“Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire.”  He tipped his head at her.

She smiled up at him, “I know who you are.”  She looked around the dimly lit room, “I’ve never heard of the Shire.

“It’s a grand place,” Bilbo spouted on regaling her with facts about the Shire and Hobbiton.

“Hobbiton?”

“Yes, it’s where we Hobbits live.”

Shana couldn’t help giggling. “A Hobbit. Is that what you are?”

Bilbo lifted one large, hairy foot wiggling it at her. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“I’ve never seen a Hobbit before.” She confessed, leaning forward a little she confided, “There’s much in this world I haven’t seen.”

“That’s truly a shame, for I have it on good authority there is much in this world that should be seen.” Bilbo suddenly sounded the expert.

“Why are you on this quest?”

Shana opened her mouth to reply.

“My Lady,” Gandalf interrupted, “Your presence is requested.” Gandalf helped her stand and led her out the doorway. Thorin waited for her down the hallway. His face blank of emotion, his eyes though were a deeper shade of blue. Was he angry with her?

She turned to Bilbo with a smile, “I hope you feel well soon, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.”

She walked to her husband looking at the deepening hue of his eyes, his full lips narrowed. Nostrils slightly flared. Yes, her husband was angry, but for what she didn’t know.

* * *

“I hope you had a nice chat.” Thorin edged around the large table, the rest of his company were settled in the Hobbit’s lounge.

Shana stood in the archway, “He is a kind soul, and he had a shock.” Explaining her actions with a frown, Shana stared at his broad back.

“I understand that, despite my request, you were not seen to as should’ve happened.” As he said this, the young dwarf scribe, Ori, entered with a steaming bowl in one hand and a silver spoon in the other. He placed them on the table nervously flitting a look from his king to Shana.

His eyes widened at the sight of Shana, now that her hood was down around her shoulders. He mumbled something, she thought it could have been ‘your majesty’ to Thorin, and then to her, he fumbled a curtsy, before whirling around and running from their presence.

Shana smiled, holding back her giggle. The smile slipped as her husband stared at her. “You seem to be honouring many with your smile tonight.”

The words were hard, tinged with an emotion she didn’t recognise in him. “I’m happy,” she explained, “I’ve never imagined places like this. Others, like our host. It’s exciting.”

Thorin slid the bowl to her, placing the spoon beside it and indicated the chair nearest to him. “I see, so the Hobbit excites you?”

Shana sat down picking up the spoon. The thick, lumpy stew smelled wonderful, filled with meat and vegetables.

“He is a wondrous creature.” She agreed, “I never knew people like him existed.” She looked up at him, “I know the Habai are not tall people, as the Haradrim, but to meet someone like him.” She shrugged, not sure how to explain how exciting and curious this night was becoming despite her arrival to this home.

“So you like that he is shorter than you.”

She nodded, chewing a mouthful of meat thoughtfully.

“Well, his height does give him an advantage, I suppose.” Thorin placed one large hand on the table, leaning over her. “I’m sure you would find his head fit between your thighs without the need for him to bend down.”

The spoon clattered back into the bowl, splashing little specks of broth over his hand. Shana brought one hand to her mouth, swallowing hard. “My Lord,” she breathed deeply at the anger that rose in her. “I would never—“

“You will eat your supper and retire, wife.”

At that, he was gone from the room. Shana stared at the creamy coloured walls, the empty room, the chairs left haphazard from the other dwarves. A shadow appeared at the corner of her eye, and she turned to see Ori in the archway. “Thorin asked that I show you to your room. When you’re ready of course.” He gave that strange curtsy again.

Shana pushed the bowl away, the food tasted of ash now, and her appetite had fled with her husband’s vulgar words. Pushing away from the table she stood and waited for him to lead on.

She pulled her hood up over her head. Pulling it as far forward as she could, settling her face in shadow. She lowered her eyes, refusing to meet the dwarf’s stare and indicated she was ready with a nod.

She passed through the room they all sat in, feeling every one of their speculative stares. “My Lady?”

Shana paused at her husband’s voice, turning to look at him. He stood by the mantle, a pipe in hand ready to light. He opened his mouth to talk, and she knew she could not listen to his words. He’d sworn to her she would never be his property, she would never be his to command, always his equal.

“Goodnight, My Lord.” She whispered, bowing her head, making sure her eyes were kept lowered before walking away. Not caring that he was left with his mouth open, words left unsaid.

It seemed she was only an equal to him when she was on her back.

As she followed Ori, she could hear the murmurs of Gandalf and Bilbo. She wanted to walk back to that dim room and say goodnight to the wizard and the Hobbit. But only so she could feed her anger. And, that would be unfair to Bilbo. He no more deserved her husband’s anger than she did.

Ori opened her door, and she slipped into the room, a hobbit-sized double bed sat against the wall with a candle above the unlit fireplace and a second one beside the bed.

“Goodnight, My Lady.” Shana nodded. Her back to the Dwarf until he closed the door and left her alone. She moved to the bed and lay upon it, wrapping her cloak around her.

She laid there listening, her mind drifting as her eyes closed in tiredness. When a song began, the voice deep, soothing, then accompanied by humming, it lulled her into a restless sleep.

* * *

Warm breath, like a sigh, drifted across her neck. She’d had her hood pulled up, her long braid pulled over one shoulder when she went to sleep. She stiffened as another warm breath slid over her bare skin.

“You’re awake.”

Shana turned her face into the pillow, not wanting to speak to him. Not sure what else would come out of his mouth.

If he thought she would spread her legs for him this night, or any other, willingly, he was mistaken. He would have to command her if he wanted the joys of the marriage bed ever again.

“You are… upset with me, perhaps?”

She closed her eyes, firmly trying to ignore him. “Yes, definitely upset with me.”

A lone finger trailed down her neck to the curve of her shoulder. Followed by his soft lips, and the scratchy bristles of his beard. Shana clenched her eyes, the beard, it was the most surprising thing she’d ever felt. The Habai men grew large beards, not as bushy or as well cared for as dwarves. They were rough, abrasive and dirty.

Thorin’s beard, it was scratchy, yet had the strangest softness, and it tickled her. Not so as to make her laugh, but when he brushed it against her, like now, it seemed to find every tender part of her skin, marking everywhere he touched with a sensitivity she’d never believed existed.

He dragged his mouth up to her ear, “Did I tell you I was a jealous old fool?”

His tongue flickered over the edges of her ear, down to the lobe where he suckled it like a babe.

Shana braced to move, but a solid arm came around her waist holding her against his broad chest. His mouth moved across the edge of her jaw. Teeth scraped against her lightly, and her eyes flicked open, unable to help the harsh breath fall from her, Shana grabbed at his arm. She didn’t want this, she didn’t want to want him when he had been so cruel to her.

“Did I tell you, that I remember every one of your smiles you have bestowed on me?”

“Stop.” She begged, pushing harder at his arm. She was turned quick as Thorin pulled her to her back his body over her before she could stop him, one leg between hers. One hand seized her jaw, his grip tight but not painful. In the flickering of one candle, she beheld eyes of midnight blue.

“I’m a jealous old fool, who treasures every smile you gift me. I tuck them away in my memory only so I can pull them out, like keepsakes, and see them again.”

Thorin leant up and placed the softest kiss on her forehead, trailing his beard and lips down to her cheek. He placed another soft, lingering kiss. Warm breath wafting over her face, bringing every nerve ending to attention.

His lips passed over hers, landing on her other cheek. “My words were foul, my anger unjust.”

He pulled up onto his elbows, gazing down at her, with perhaps the most doltish look on his face. “I couldn’t stand you smiling at him. Especially as I’ve neglected you all eve.” He rolled off of her to the edge of the bed. “I didn’t even introduce you to my company. I meant to, but I couldn’t.”

“Forgive me, Shana. Forgive me for being so selfish to only want you all for myself.”

She moved quickly, up, swinging her legs over him, her hands snatching at his braids to pull him into her. She was craving those lips and hating those words, because, her husband, her king, was never vulnerable.

When she’d kissed all the words from his mouth, she drew back. “Love me.”

He nodded, tilting his head his lips barely touching hers. “I am yours to command, My Queen.”

In the short time, they had been married, Shana had learnt well that her husband loved to undress her, as much as she loved to undress him.

Thorin, though, took his exquisite time. He would always reveal her slowly, often pressing kisses, or flicking his tongue over her body. Tonight was no different as he peeled each layer away. Her cloak, the tunic of homespun, her drab travelling dress. Lastly, she lay there in her shift. The white material so thin it was easy to see her body.

As like their wedding night, he swept her up in his arms and laid her on the bed. He’d already removed his outer garments and was dressed only in tunic and breeches. Moving to the end of the bed to stare at her, he flicked both braids off his shoulders before placing one knee on the bed.

“Know this, My Queen, I shall love your body thoroughly this night. In doing so, I will gain penance for my words and actions.”

She didn’t understand what he meant. There was nothing more to forgive.

He crawled up the bed, and she willingly parted her legs. They couldn’t go wide as the shift pulled taught around her shins. His hands reached out, sliding over her ankles, up towards her knees, taking the cloth with him.

Resting her head on the pillow, she had to look up at the ceiling. Already it was too much for her. Too much feeling, too much sensation, too much stimulation. Her body was alight, ready to explode and he wasn’t even near to getting inside her.

Penance, this word made sense to her now. He would chase forgiveness from her body and soul, and she would burn for it. She hated penance with every fibre of her being.

“Look at me?” how could she not with his quiet words so insecure. No one saw him like this, she’d seen that for herself at Ered Luin. He was graceful, noble, confident, and very arrogant to those that surrounded him. When they were alone, though, he had become different. It had been an honour and a privilege to realise with her, he let his guard down

His hands reached her thighs, then her hips. The shift bunched around her hips as he lowered his head and kissed the inside of her thigh.

“Forgive my cruel words.”

He kissed the other thigh.

“Forgive my abandonment of you.”

A little higher a kiss with a scrape of teeth.

“Forgive my jealousy.”

The other thigh, higher still, kissing the seam between leg and body.

“Forgive my mistrust.”

He nuzzled his nose into the soft hair above her centre.

“Forgive me, Shana.”

His mouth moved lower, his tongue swirled around her nub, it swelled for him.

“I would rather cut off my sword arm than see you’re anguished face again.”

He sucked her nubbin into his mouth, flicking his tongue against her. She arched, a fierce cry slipping free.

“My wife, my beautiful, innocent wife. I have been unjust to you.”

He let go of his tenderness and suckled her into his mouth. Her world was splintering apart already. Her hands dug into his head, his wandered up to her belly, his thumbs caressing the curves of her breasts.

A thrum rushed through her, her legs shook, and she tried to gasp his name.

He moved with that speed a great warrior possesses, his hands under her thighs, pulling her legs over his shoulders, his face sliding down. His tongue speared her, and her eyes rolled back into her head.

Her feet dug into his back, his thumbs parting her, flicking at her centre. She was drowning, her breath deserting her, her belly curved in, her breasts pushed out, her neck arched, her body lifting off the bed. Her hands clawed into the sheets.

“Thorin,” she cried. It was the first time she could ever remember crying his name.

Passion, unhinged and maniacal flooded her, her mind blanking, her ears were assailed with the sound of her rushing blood. She could feel her heart beating spastically, thought perhaps his ardour would leave her dead.

She shook her head begging for no more, his desire would be her destruction.

Something inside whooshed up her body, it freed her lungs, melted her brain, clamped every muscle tight in her body. Until she exploded.

Her spasming body was tied to every lick, flick, suck and swirl of his tongue. Fire igniting under her skin and all she could do was burn.

* * *

She lay there, naked body glistening, fine tremors still lancing through her. She was sated and tranquil, her husband’s head laying on her belly. She stroked his thick hair, her other hand resting on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” his voice was hollow with exhaustion.

She smiled and looked over at the ruined shift he’d ripped from her body, before plunging his length into her, his talented mouth finding her breasts and loving them as equally as he loved the other sensitive parts of her body.

She easily forgave him, even when he used the material to wipe his seed from her body. To hear him say sorry was not something the King often did, if at all.

“Rest now, My King.”

His hands snuggled around her, his lax body laying between her splayed legs as he nuzzled into that stroking hand.

“Good night,” he slurred with sleepiness, “My love.”

Shana froze, staring down at his sleeping face. His brow furrowed at her stillness, and she forced her hand back to caressing his hair. Watching with attentive eyes as his face smoothed in sleep.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG This story has nearly reached 1000 hits! It's amazing and I can't thank you all enough. Your reviews and Kudos are Chicken Soup for my soul! You are all amazing <3  
> Shoutouts to EbonyLeijon, chrisdurin, LoveDria and JUMPINGMANATEE for their amazing and inspiring reviews. You are all keeping this story alive!

Thorin felt the tug on his shoulder, Dwalin’s large hand pulling him towards the warrior.

“I think your lady needs you.”

Thorin glanced over his shoulder his wife was leaning in her saddle, he nodded, called a halt to the company’s slow pace. Everyone dismounted with pleasurable sighs, the hot day making all of them itchy in the saddle.

Making his way down the line, Thorin stopped by the pony carrying his wife. He looked at the hard leather she sat upon.

“Where are the furs?” He barked his question to Fíli, his nephew shrugged.

“I thought Kíli had them.”

His youngest nephew with his brown hair a mess and his mischievous smile firmly in place approached them.

“Thorin,” he greeted boldly, casting a fond look between his brother and uncle, “What is it?”

“The furs, Kíli.”

“Oh, yes,” the dwarf reddened a little, “They’re on Mr Boggins pony.”

“Baggins,” Thorin murmured distractedly, his brow creasing. “Why are they on his pony?”

“Well, Myrtle was a little more docile than this pony. Shana swapped, to ease his fears.”

Thorin turned his sharp gaze to his wife, sitting there, pain dogging her mahogany eyes, bottom lip tucked firmly between her teeth.

He nodded, a promise in his eyes that made his wife tilt her gaze downwards.

“Well, then, let us help my wife from her pony.”

He knew there was no saving her from the pain she was in, he flicked his head at Fíli a silent command that had the young dwarf smirking.

Once the blond dwarf stood opposite him, he held his arms out. Fíli grabbed her foot from the stirrup, making her shriek as he pushed her sideways.

She fell into Thorin’s arms, her own circling his neck tightly. She was a light little thing, weighed less than the axe on his back. Her hiss as he dragged her clear of the animal wounded him, he swept her legs up, found himself soothing her with murmured apologies no others could hear.

His nephews both stared at him oddly. He ignored them. He strode away keeping Shana firmly in his grasp lowering her body to sit beneath the shade of a tree.

“You will not ride without furs to protect you again, is that clear?”

He wasn’t harsh with her, not like last night at the hobbit’s home. He’d learnt his lesson there, never wanting to see her turn away from him again.

“You will sit here until we ride again.”

She bestowed a small smile, the ache of her thighs still showing on her face.

“Rest,” he soothed, taking her hand he dotted kisses over her small fingers, before biting the tip of her middle one leaving her gasping.

Thorin marched to his friends. A smirk plastered over his lips that had Balin grinning, Dwalin chuckling, his nephews staring with crumpled brows.

He passed by, Dwalin slapping him on the back.

“Balin, has he been enchanted by the wizard, or cursed perhaps.?”

Thorin couldn’t stop the gruff bark of laughter at Kíli’s question. He was still grinning when Bofur brought over some cold meat and bread, enough for two he noticed.

Thanking him, he gazed at his sleeping wife, ate half the meal and wrapped the rest for her when she awoke.

* * *

Shana stretched her arms up high, enjoying the cool breeze beneath the shade. Sunlight stippled the ground in little waves shifted by the swaying branches above her. Her eyes wandered over the camp and to beyond.

A wide break in the forest showed the road they’d taken nestled between patchwork fields. The greens and golds of the land were inspiring.

Songs and poems could be written about this beauty, she thought. Wishing that her father could see this, her mother.

Her smile slipped away, she swallowed back her gathering emotions.

“Such a sad smile, wife.”

She turned to look beside her. Thorin sat with his back resting against a tree, one knee propped up the other out straight. His pipe in his hands and a fond look on his tilted face.

They said there was no love more fiercer or true than the love shared between the King and Queen of the Habai. She’d believed the stories of their love and passion, seen for herself the slow decay of her father after her mother died. Could never believe it could exist somewhere else.

Now, here, at this moment. Her breaths shallowing, her heart thumping, skin crawling, she thought they were wrong. She could love this dwarf-king, give him her soul and her heart willingly. If he asked her to drain her life’s blood for him, she’d do it without hesitation.

“Shana?”

“I love you,” she whispered.

He froze, pipe halfway to his mouth, the fondness replaced with sternness. She scrutinised his face, trying to translate the cobalt gaze, the pursed mouth.

Displeasure.

She’d gotten caught up in fairy tales of her parents and her passion of last night, he calling her his love. He’d said it in sleep, for all she knew he could have been thinking of another.

After all, she knew nothing of his life before their marriage. How was she to know he had not had plans to marry another?

Averting her eyes she ignored the flaring pain in her thighs, using the tree behind to push herself up to weak feet, legs trembling.

“Shana.”

She walked away, could not bare to look at him. Many a time had she been cautioned about her quick mouth. Never giving thought to her careless words.

This was an arranged marriage, its purpose designed for a king to get what he wanted, for her people to get what they wanted, for her father to get what he wanted. She had no place in this other than to be a good wife. It was her duty, and falling in love with her husband was not part of that duty.

She sat alone from them all, waiting for the order to mount up and depart. The beauty of The Shire now tainted and diminished.

Her nephews by marriage approached her with soft smiles.

“My Lady, we are to help you.”

She could read the signs clearly, seeing as it was they and not her husband who had come to her.

She took the proffered hand of the eldest one, allowed him to help her to her feet and followed towards the long line of ponies.

Her beast of burden awaited her, munching grass and snorting. Steeling her body, ready for the pain of mounting the animal, Shana frowned as she was lead past it.

Further away from the pony she was led until they stopped at the front. She stared at her husband’s boot clasped in the silver stirrup.

“Lift her up.”

Her breath choked as she was turned, hands at her waist lifted her, larger hands grabbed her and settled her. Her rump between his legs, hers pitched over one iron thigh. Her skirts adjusted and smoothed flat by his hand. His arms imprisoned her as he reached for the reins.

The touch of his lips against her ear, “They’ll be no running from me this time, Wife.”

Outmanoeuvred by his keen intellect, overwrought by his words and the sultry baritone voice she could only sit straight as the pony began its lazy sway onwards.

* * *

They had to have been riding for about an hour, Shana guessed. The sun moving purposefully overhead, beating down on her covered hair. Thorin had insisted she cover herself in his cloak to protect her. She was used to a sun hotter than this, but had not argued, had not spoken in fact. Merely nodded and obliged him.

She was swathed in the midnight material. His arm rested against her back, the other resting on her thigh. Occasionally his thumb would smooth over the cloak, a few strokes now and again, more through habit than emotion she feared.

Behind her, she could hear the soft murmur of voices. The brothers were teasing Bilbo again. The other family one of them with an axe in his head, were laughing and joking, the hatted one murmuring dirty rhymes. Her husband had already shouted over his shoulder, red patches mottling his cheeks, disappearing into the sharp lines of his beard. His caution that a lady was present had forced a smile from her, but she’d hidden it away.

Now she rode in silence with her husband, her thoughts looping back to her foolish words.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he murmured above her head.

She didn’t reply, merely angled her face to hear him better.

“I think I like a wife who obey’s my every command.”

She bristled, unable to stop the stiffness of her back, he chuckled.

“Had you obeyed my command regarding your pony, you would not be suffering such soreness between your legs.”

She couldn’t disagree with that, her chafed thighs still pained her, even with the gentle trot of their pony.

“My pony would not have to suffer carrying two.”

That made guilt rise. She would not purposefully see an animal suffer.

“Furthermore,” he sighed deeply, warm breath teasing the strands of hair that fluttered over her cheek, “I would not have to punish you, Wife.”

Her eyes fell closed, a tremble setting up in the base of her spine. Thinking of the punishments dealt out by her people. Wives beat and flogged for the smallest of infractions.

“How should I punish you, Wife?”

She shook her head, not wanting to give him ideas.

“Should I command you to tell me?”

Softly she tried to ease her body away from him.

“Should I strip you, take my leather belt to your unblemished skin?”

She couldn’t reply in any form, her heart thumping loudly.

Another deep breath, his barrelled chest pressing against her arm.

“My Mother was against physical punishment. My Father once was going to take his belt to my backside. My Mother soothed him, said that you always caught more flies with honey.”

His hand slipped beneath the edge of the cloak resting on her knee.

“My Mother could make me feel guilty and small, whenever I did something wrong. Her beautiful eyes, disappointed in me, was worse than any belt across my hide.”

Shana could feel his hands scrunching her skirt higher until warm fingers pressed to her skin.

“I give you a choice, Wife.” His fingers trailed a blazing circle above her knee, inching higher with each rotation.

“Tell me your words again, or take your punishment.”

Her words? Understanding came to her. No, she would not say that again.

Her silence was her answer.

“Very well, little one.”

His fingers danced over her raw thighs she stifled her gasp at the sting. He shifted his knee a little higher causing her legs to gape. His fingers dove in wasting little time. He traced her folds, mapping her in idle strokes. One finger found her nub and began to stroke. It was slow and tender, not what she’d call a punishment at all. She couldn’t help widening her thighs to give him better access.

He flicked at her centre, drew circles around it, brushed it tenderly.

A warmth began to build with his slow motions, her breathing increasing, her blood speeding, a light sheen of sweat dotting her skin.

Still, he was slow and purposeful, and her gradual build was starting to crest. Her peak reached, her back arching into him, her lips puffing out tense little breaths.

His finger stopped, and that delightful feel of release ebbed away.

“Tell me?” He whispered, lips brushing her forehead.

She shook her head. She couldn’t force her love onto him, not if it would only ever be one-sided.

After a few minutes of silence, he bowed his head, “Very well.”

His fingers began strumming her again, this time, more aggressive, bringing her need for release into a sharp spike of arousal.

When the waves looked set to crash upon her, he stopped.

“Tell me?”

She gasped, a hand grabbing the fur of his coat, clawing in. She tried to rub her thighs together, to get that needed friction, his thick wrist stopping her.

She shook her head, refusing to give in now. A battle of wills developing. She would not break to him this way.

“Very well, Wife,” a caution in his hiss.

His fingers moved, this time slipping down to enter her while his thumb flicked and rubbed her nubbin.

Twice more he brought her to near completion, each time stopping letting the need drift away.

Her body was a mass of trembles, sweat coating her, her dress sticking in places. The cloak about her too warm, each time she tried to throw it off, he stopped her.

Her legs shifted, her back arched, her emotions toyed with to the point that the next time he brought her close and stopped she broke open.

Turning her face into his chest, hiding her sobs.

“Tell me,” and this time his voice was begging her.

She shook her head, “I cannot,” she choked.

“Give it to me,” his lips pressed to the corner of her eye, tongue flicking out to taste her tears.

“No,” she sobbed the word into damp fur.

He stiffened, she felt his body turning, “Balin, take the others ahead. My wife is distressed, once I have calmed her I will catch up.”

His arm came around her, holding her head tightly to his chest, his hand between her thighs began teasing her. The gentle clip of ponies passing by forced her body to stillness.

He was brutal in teasing her, two fingers easing in and out of her, his motions hidden by the cloak. His thumb striking her swollen centre, tracing wet folds, flicking her nub. She couldn’t keep up with what he was doing to her. Every time her arousal shuttled through her, it brought a fresh wave of tears.

Finally, silence etched over them only broken by her choking sobs and gasping breaths. He was unaffected, his breathing steady. His movements were cold and efficient.

She wanted to hate him but found she couldn’t, it galled her.

Her body screamed for action, she tried to fling herself away, but he was too strong. If she could not escape him, she decided, she would make him burn with her.

Slashing a hand up, circling his neck, grabbing his hair at the roots, she heaved up and smashed her mouth against his.

Her teeth bit into his lips until he opened his mouth. Her tongue waged a brutal war against his. Her hands clawed and scratched as she near climbed his body, knees to the saddle as his hand fell away, then around his hips as she began to rub herself against his belly. Her chafed thighs protested, but the sharp pain only stirred her desire to greater heights.

He threw his head back, “Tell me!”

His demand ignored, her teeth scraped his bearded chin followed it down to where it ebbed out at his throat. She bit and sucked, feeling the coldness fall away as a tremble overtook him.

“No,” he gasped, his throat bobbing against her lips.

Hands grabbed her, shoved her to arms length, leaning her against the neck of the pony, the animal snorting, sidestepping, his fingers tightening, keeping her steady.

“Tell me!” He yelled at her, his face was red, lips snarling, teeth gritted.

“I love you!” she screamed back at him.

He yanked her to him tugged her down. Somehow, he’d freed himself, and her wetness allowed him to thrust into her.

Everything stopped.

He glared down at her, a fury barely banked behind sapphire eyes.

“Wrap your arms and legs around me,” he commanded, “And do not let go,” he finished on a rumbling growl.

The unease she should have felt an age ago now trembled through her, causing muscles to tighten and a hiss fell from him.

She obeyed him, staring into his face. She felt his legs move, knees shifting inwards.

The realisation of what was about to happen made her cling on as the pony lurched forward at a fast clip and her body was bounced up and down on him.

His hands released her to grab the reins, and he yanked the pony around in circles. It was too much for her she came apart, arching into him.

Still, his thick maleness penetrated her, hard stabs that drove him deep into her. It was pounding, but she clamoured for more, the bliss and sharp sting propelling her body into a frenetic state. Her nails clawed into his neck, her thighs, still chafed, squeezed against his hips.

His face started to dissolve from absolute control into a snarling madness. His hands let go of the reins, and he commanded the animal with the slightest twitch of his legs.

“Shana!” He cried out, eyes clenched shut, his face contorted in agony, his fingers grasped her hips cleaving her to him.

He broke apart in shallow sobs, his hardness swelling inside her. He erupted in pulsing explosions, his hot seed marking her womb. She clung to him, whispered her love into his ear. His head lodged against her shoulder, his howls of completion emptied against her breast.

He eased the pony to a stop, his breath heaving over her, his heart pounding a rhythm they could both hear.

“I shouldn’t…have done that.” The words were tugged out of him, she could hear the building guilt in his tone.

“Yes,” she consoled him, “Yes, you should have.”

“I cannot risk a child with you.”

She stiffened at his admission. His hands clawed into her, dragging her closer.

“No,” he beseeched softly. “Do not misread my words, they are not cruel.”

“They are the truth,” she offered, trying to ease her own ache and separate their bodies.

“A truth that must be, until this quest is over.”

“You do not need to explain, My King.”

He growled low in his throat, “Hearing you call me that, means that I do, Shana.”

The pony threw back its head with a snort, shifted hard, lurching them both. He soothed the animal, while his eyes slowly rose to hers.

“If this quest should fail, if I should meet my death, I cannot go to the halls of my ancestors knowing I left you with a child to raise.”

What did that matter?

“I would love our child, Thorin. No matter the outcome of this quest.” she pressed a kiss to his trembling lips.

“Of that, I have no doubt, but you’re not a dwarrowdam, Shana. My people may not accept any child of ours as royal bloodline. Only a king can rule Erebor. Only a king can rule the Habai. Where would that leave you, my beautiful wife?”

She lifted her head, lips rasping against his, hands clinging to his cheeks, “Raising our child.” She pushed every bit of belief into her eyes and voice.

His hands embraced her cheeks, he dotted small frantic kisses to her lips.

“Do not ask me to leave you with such a burden,” he caressed her face with his thumbs, searching her eyes with his.

“I wish that you would,” he shook his head at her words.

“Why would a child now, between us, make such a significant difference than when my throne is secure.”

She shrugged, eyes tipping down, hands settling on his chest, fingers spreading out to caress him.

“Because I have nothing else to offer.”

He frowned down at her.

“I bring no gold, no land, nothing to you that is of use. I was a means to an end when you took me to wife. I have no other purpose to cling to, no other use for you.”

His eyes fell closed wearily, his forehead pressing against her. His lips found hers for the briefest of kisses before he pushed her away, turned her around to sit in front of him.

She hissed at the feel of his seed between her bruised thighs. She could feel him putting himself together, a shield coming up. He urged her leg over the saddle, sitting her aside rather than astride the pony.

His hands grabbed the reins, his boots gently nudged the animal into a slow gait.

All that love and hope inside her that swirled and eddied lapping at her heart and rippling through her soul began to still. The dryness of a barren desert edged in, withering all away.

His head leant to hers, a kiss pressed to her crown, a soft sigh of words rippling through her hair.

“I love you, Shana. That is your purpose to me.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you's go to:  
> EbonyLeijon, chrisdurin, JUMPINGMANATEE, Likarian and Avendia for your fabulous and encouraging reviews. You, wonderful people, are chicken soup for my soul. Without your reviews, I don't think I'd be as inspired as I am. I look forward to every review I receive and you wonderful people have left me some very inspiring comments. Thank you again, for taking the time to click that comment button.  
> More character development in this chapter, but no smut! I'm saving that for the next chapter. I'd love to read what you think of this chapter. Big love and hugs to you all <3

“Where did you go to, if I may ask?”

“To look ahead.”

“What brought you back.”

“Looking behind… And seeing a little nymph chasing me.”

Thorin looked over at his wife. He wondered if it was wrong to find the snarl curling her top lip enticing.

Her mahogany gaze narrowed on him and he knew he could put her off no more. She’d thoroughly checked over every dwarf he’d shoved her way, only to see that rage simmer, ready to boil over. He’d get an earful he was sure. 

“Would you say you’re happy with your wife, Thorin?”

He smirked at the curious wizard. “That is my business,” he stated. Marching away from the wizard to his wife of fewer than two months. He stood before her, holding his arms out at his sides. 

“I am uninjured, Wife.”

“I will see for myself, Husband.”

He smirked down at the crown of her head as she ran her hands over him searching for wounds. He noticed her fine tremble and while she distracted herself examining his chest he stepped forward enfolding her in his arms.

He heard the first gasp and cradled her closer, chin resting on her head. He hid her from the others, enshrouding her in his coat as she sobbed into his chest. He let her fall apart against him her body leant into his, he holding her together in his strong arms.

His dwarves shot sly, sympathetic looks his way. Each one showing a growing fondness and loyalty for their exotic Queen.

 When her tears stilled, he placed soft, encouraging kisses on her lips. He murmured his love for her, and she returned it in a shaky whisper.

He found his words of love for her easier now. Her declaration a few weeks ago had forced him to reveal what lived inside him. He revelled in the new purpose she gave him, being a husband, a provider, and if Mahal wished it, a father. It made his quest to Erebor that much more vital. Giving her a home, welcoming their people, it all culminated inside him in a warmth and responsibility he did not shy away from. He welcomed the oncoming challenges with his alluring wife beside him.

“My brave, beautiful wife,” he wiped her reddened cheeks dry, smiled devotedly at her. He skimmed his hands over her checking for injuries. Every so often making her squirm with his tickling fingers. 

He’d been surprised at Gandalf’s statement. His plucky wife had run after the wizard to alert him of the trolls and their predicament.

The hobbit had done well in buying them time. His wife had done equally well, if not more so, he thought. 

He knew she could have fallen prey to any number of evils out there. He thanked Mahal she did not, but still it sent a shudder through him, made his hands tighten their hold on her slim body. Later, she could expect a stern lecture from him. When he was sure, she had recovered, of course. 

“Someone’s coming!”

Her alert had him shoving her behind him. Drawing the elvish blade, he’d discovered.

Overgrown brown rabbits pulling a wooden sledge crashed through the undergrowth. A mad looking fellow with bird droppings on his face stopped at Gandalf’s urging.

* * *

 

Thorin stared off into the forest, one hand stayed on his wife’s back, rubbing soothing circles. He didn’t know if it was to comfort her or himself. He was reluctant to spend more time in this cursed forest.

Gandalf was talking to the mad looking wizard, Radagast. He couldn’t hear their murmured words.

“I wonder what they're saying?” Kíli piped up.

Thorin grinned, his youngest nephew always had that knack of saying what was generally being thought by others.

“He’s talking of dead walking, of evil growing in a fortress.”

They all looked at Shana, she shrugged, “I have good hearing.”

Thorin smirked over her head. His nephews grinned back.

Thorin leant in, “Tell me more, Wife.”

Shana repeated the conversation to him, mentioning a Necromancer, his mind spun as to what it all meant. The talking came to an end when a bloodthirsty and familiar howl rent the forest air, sending birds careening into the sky in a whoosh of flapping wings and panicked squawking.

Bilbo asked about wolves in his innocent tone, only for the foul beast responsible for the noise to hurtle into their area.

Thorin pushed Shana out of harm's way raising his sword and delivered a fatal blow, Dwalin helping with one of his axes. He tugged his wife to her feet, grabbing her to him. Hiding her face from the shock of an arrow strumming past them to hit the second Warg. He dealt another deathblow and pressed his wife back to him. Soothing her shaking and kissing her trembling lips.

Ori announced they had no ponies, and Gandalf yelled at him about who he’d told of their quest outside of his kin. Thorin assuredly stated that none of his people would ever betray him.

The wizard looked to Shana, she nodded, “There are those who would see the Haradrim as our rulers. Bahij has many spies. He would not be pleased when this news reached him.”

“What news?” Thorin questioned.

Gandalf answered sharply, “News of the Princess’ marriage.”

Thorin pointed his sword at Gandalf, “I want to know all. When we are safe, you will both explain.” He glared at the wizard but softened his gaze at his wife.

The wizard nodded, glanced behind him. “We cannot outrun Warg riders on foot.”

“I’ll lead them away, Gandalf,” Radagast’s tone like a puppy eager to please concerned Thorin. Looking around at his troubled company, he knew they were out of choices and would need the fool’s help.

Thorin pulled his wife aside, stern eyes taking her in. “You stay beside me, you follow my command. Is that clear?”

She nodded, he took in those almond-shaped eyes, deepest brown flecked with amber. Her pert little nose and kissable mouth. He checked her clothing, making sure there was nothing that would trip or hinder her.

“If anything should happen, look to Dwalin.”

Her mouth twitched, “You will follow my word, Shana. I will not have you in danger.”

He pressed a hand to her belly, “If there is a child, you must survive. Promise me?”

She stiffened, her lips tightened into a white slash. Thorin pressed a kiss to her immovable mouth. 

“You have an indomitable spirit, wife. I suppose this means I had better not die today.”

She nodded, but he could read her panic. It echoed loudly through him, a fear arose, not for himself, but of not being able to protect her.

He clasped her hand and pressed a hurried kiss to her fingers.

* * *

 

Run and hide, became her mantra as she dogged her husband’s footsteps. The strange, hunched magic-man on his wood-framed sledge, pulled by the large-eared forest creatures he called Rhosgobel Rabbits, darted across the wide stony range.

His turns sporadic, leading the orcs and their vile rides far from them, only to spin around and lead them back. The fool nearly ran across their path leading their hunters close to them.

They ran again, a short way, all stopping behind a large clump of boulders covered in moss. Shana tried to stop in time, but her sprint was too fast to stop so quick. She ran into the back of her husband.

He turned face pale and strained, she opened her mouth to apologise, but he pressed a hard kiss to her forehead. 

“My brave wife,” he murmured, grasping her hand, squeezing it. She could see his body brace. Her muscles clenched readying herself for the flight across the rugged ground.

They all took off as one multi-headed creature, legs pumping, boots pounding the grass, dirt, and rock. Behind another large clomp of granite they waited.

“Where are you leading us?” Thorin questioned the wizard, he didn’t reply to her husband. He stared at them remorse clouding his azure eyes, before signalling them all to run.

Fleeing across a flat innocuous looking area, they sprinted, Shana clinging tight. 

Her hand snatched from Thorin’s. Her foot caught in a dip. She slammed down onto her chest, her bosom taking the impact along with her knees.

She watched breathlessly as her husband slid to a halt, whirled around and swiftly he was there. Dragging her up against his body, forcing her to run. Her breath shallow gasps as her body tried to curl in on itself from the stabbing pain in her chest and scraped knees.

Behind another outcropping, he leant her against a rock and examined her. “She’s done,” he said to Dwalin, the tattooed warrior nodding in agreement.

“No,” she sobbed hands grasping at his furred coat. “I can run,”  she pleaded, dread swelling inside pushing back the pain to a dull thrum.

Thorin eyed her, “Aye, you can, but you will not.”

The signal to flee and her husband swept her up in his arms, flying across grassy ground, to another collection of rocks.

This time, their presence did not go unnoticed. Over Thorin’s shoulder, she watched a mounted orc, its drooling beast scenting the air. An arrow loosed from Kíli’s bow, and it tumbled to her husband’s feet, a ferocious squeal echoing over the landscape as the killing blow was inflicted.

They were running again into longer grass, “Kíli shoot them.”

Thorin’s order was accompanied by him placing Shana on her feet, standing in front of her like a shield of stone. Axe in one hand, sword in the other, Shana glimpsed the true warrior that was her husband.

Before she knew what was about, Gandalf was calling for them from behind a boulder. She was picked up and tossed into the arms of Dwalin. She didn’t have time to fight the hold, saw only that her husband remained as she slid down a sharp incline into a cave. Hauled up out of the way of others coming down.

At last, her husband was there, and she ran to Thorin, just as a horn sounded and a grotesque brown body tumbled into the cave an arrow lodged in its neck.

“Elves,” her husband spat. Throwing the arrow aside.

She knew her husband was not fond of these people, but a part of her wanted to crawl up the slope and see them. She’d heard much about them from Gandalf, and Bilbo always spoke in awed tones of them.

* * *

 

The small body curled in his arms shifted slightly. Her head readjusted itself snuggling tighter into his embrace. Her eyes closed in sleep.

Her injuries were his fault. He’d seen the hole in the ground, his wide gait carrying him over it easily. In his rush he didn’t even think of Shana behind him. The feel of her stumbling, her hand ripped from his. It was sharply engraved in his mind. His pure terror choking him as he slid to a halt, whirled about and saw the warg rider in the distance.

He’d snatched her up, heard her muffled cry of pain, her body bowing in as he forced her to run alongside him. The panic in her face when he declared her done. He wondered if she thought he meant to leave her behind. He gripped her tighter, whispered a kiss over her forehead. He would rather cut out his heart than even consider the idea of it.

He was not pleased with where the wizard led them, but when they came to the outcrop, Thorin had to wake his wife. Rivendell was no dwarven stronghold. It was too vapid, too bright, waterfalls, trees and over-pungent flowers surrounded the homely house. It held no beauty for him, but he would not allow Shana to miss the sight. He knew she had become fascinated by stories of the elves.

“Wife,” he whispered into her ear, his breath stirring against her cheek, her eyelids fluttering. Her fawn eyes opening to his.

“Look,” he commanded with a nod towards the view. Shana turned slowly, her rapid intake of air made it all worth it. There were those who would likely say he acted a fool for the way he pampered his wife. He didn’t care, her pleasure was his. Truly, what did a few minutes spent on a bluff cost him? The look of happiness that came over her face, as she turned to him that deep love of hers vibrating through him.

“It is beautiful,” she murmured and a heat sprung up in her eyes. “Not as beautiful as my husband,” she whispered, her fingers curling into his neck, pulling him into a kiss of sheer rapture.

“Careful, wife,” he pulled back, lips tracing against hers, “You’re injured.”

She shook her head, “I feel wonderful.” She emphasised with a stretch of her supple body.

Thorin grumped, the magic of elves indeed. “Once I am sure you are well, my lips are yours to command.”

The little sprite grinned and sucked his lip into her mouth, biting down. His cock swelled, his breeches were unforgiving, trapping him tightly. 

“You’ll be the death of me,” he gave her a mock glower. She laughed, and it was a beautiful, tinkling sound that rivalled the flowing waterfalls. The urge to throw her to the ground and bury himself deep shuttled through him. 

“Thorin,” Gandalf approached, “I think you should know that this place can have a particular effect.”

He’d guessed that, and with strength he set his wife on her feet, pushing her gently ahead in front of him, wrestling back his control. 

Gandalf leant in close, “Though it has more of an effect on those in love.”

He stopped, staring at his wife’s back. He’d never needed confirmation of Shana's feelings, but the assuredness that rushed through him brought a giddiness he’d not felt since a dwarvling running around the halls of Erebor.

A new pride took hold in his steps as he followed her down the path to Rivendell.

* * *

 

Gandalf stared at the royal couple, beside him sat Lord Elrond. The Elf-Lord had warmly welcomed the dwarves, enjoying their suspicious ways, barely hiding his amusement at their antics.

“My Lord, do you sense anything?”

Elrond’s eyes flicked over to him, “Yes, Gandalf, I do.”

He nodded, he wasn’t sure if this complicated matters or not. The Lady had not foretold of this happening so soon. 

“You’ll need to talk with him, soon.” Elrond cautioned.

Gandalf nodded.

“Will he be pleased?” The Elf-Lord questioned, his gaze curious.

Gandalf stared at the happy couple enjoying Bofur’s singing and dancing, “He will not show it, but he will be pleased.”

“And my offer?” Lord Elrond asked, a worry tingeing his tone.

“He will see sense in it,” Gandalf assured, knowing he would help the dwarf see the need for the Elf-Lord’s help.

* * *

 

He’d assumed when he’d been requested to visit the Lord of Rivendell in his study, it had to do with his Father’s map.

As the door closed behind him, he stared at Gandalf and the elf, both casually sitting across from each other. Food and drink perched on the table between them. An empty chair awaited. His instincts yelled at him.

“This has nothing to do with my Father’s map, does it?”

“No,” the wizard held out a hand to the ornate chair. “Please sit, this matter is urgent and cannot wait.”

Thorin sat and waited. Gandalf was his usual blustery self, talking but not saying anything.

“Get to the point, Wizard.” Thorin’s natural paranoia stabbed behind his left eye, causing a faint twitch. He wasn’t interested in hearing the wonders of Lord Elrond and his healing abilities, or about the keen senses of elves.

“Thorin, Son of Thrain,” Elrond spoke this time, his voice deep and sonorous.

“Your wife is with child.”

***

Thorin took the long route back to the room given to him. Shana was bathing, he’d acquiesced glumly to the she-elves stealing her away earlier. No doubt she’d be delivered back smelling like Mr Baggins garden. His nose wrinkled. 

He stopped, leant against the white balustrade. 

A child. 

Inside there was a kernel of unease and only his warrior’s resolve kept it small and insignificant. 

He closed his eyes. Everything else that had been said flooded back. 

“Your wife will need aid in her time.”

“Would you keep her with you?”

“What if your journey takes longer?”

“Who will see to your wife in her labours?”

Questions and comments he had no reply to.

Aye, he wanted his child born in safety, his wife to have the best healers. But could he agree to what had been put to him?

To leave Shana in the care of the elves while he continued his quest.

A part of him was furious that they had told him. It should have been his wife who imparted such glad tidings. 

Not an elf or a wizard.

And Shana? His wife was unaware of what treasure she hid in her body. He would accept Lord Elrond looking over his wife, making sure the fall she’d suffered had not harmed her or their child.

But to leave her behind?

Was he that noble?

There was a selfishness inside him that wanted her with him. To watch her belly swell with their child, to feel the first kicks of life. 

Could he drag her across the wilds while her body changed? His sister used to suffer headaches and a sickness constantly when pregnant with Fíli. Kíli had been easier on her, a blessing considering she was grieving the loss of her husband all through her pregnancy.

What if he died? Would he be so cruel to have his wife witness his death? What of her safety? If he fell in battle, surely the perpetrators would kill Shana and their child soon after. He knew now they had enemies hunting them.

He thumped the marble, glowered over at the mezzanine opposite. Master Baggins stood there, surveying the homely house. For a moment their eyes met. The hobbit could never hide his fear of this quest.  He was lost and homesick. 

While his brave wife never showed a fear of the quest itself. She feared for him, for the others. She was not lost or homesick. She’d told him she was home when she was in his arms.

Her people were never settled for long, she was used to constantly moving, breaking camp and rebuilding when they found somewhere else to stay for a short while.

Family was their home. 

Perhaps, it was a lesson he could do with learning.

Thorin stood straight, took in a deep breath of the cloistering sweet air. If he had to leave her somewhere, was Rivendell not the wisest choice?

There were no better healers, even among his people. 

But, that one thought besieged him. Thorin desperately wanted to be there when their child was born.

He looked to the cloudless sky, beseeching Mahal for an answer. He could not abandon his quest, yet he could not abandon his wife.

“There have only been a few children born between human and dwarf.”

Thorin rested his arms on the rail, dropping his head to his hands.

“I do not need your counsel, Gandalf.”

“Thorin, I do not offer counsel. I tell you, taking her will be a mistake. We have no idea how long her pregnancy will be. You could be in Erebor when the child comes, or, you could still be travelling.”

He shook his head, “You already know what my answer will be, Wizard.”

“You do love her?”

Thorin chuckled, “You sound surprised.”

“I had hoped, I did not think it would be this quick.”

“I knew the first night,” he murmured to his clasped hands.

Thorin turned around, hands fisted at his side. “She invaded my heart, conquered my soul. No matter what, she must live. Our child must live.”

Gandalf nodded, “I will inform Lord Elrond of your answer.”

Thorin inclined his head with a grace he did not feel. He strolled away, aiming for dignity, a point of pride in his step that was an illusion.

For when the wizard was out of sight, Thorin Oakenshield dropped his head to his hands and wept.

* * *

 

She whirled around, watching her dress flare out around her legs. She staggered to the side, her head dizzy, and laughed at her foolishness. She had none of her pretty dresses with her, only drab, functional clothing. This sheerness covered her scented skin, caressed her small frame with a decadence she’d thought never to experience again.

Shana swept her hands over soft gossamer, it twinkled like stars caught in spider webs. Beneath she wore a silky shift of cream, her sleeves belled out at her elbows, tapering down to little points that hung below her hands.

She wasn’t sure of this style, being so different to her traditional garb. The sash that had hung around her tapered waist had been discarded. 

She spun around once more, colliding with a rock hard body and a kiss that curled her toes.

She pulled away, gasping for breath between her delighted giggles. She twirled for her husband.

“Do I look like an elf?”

His eyes roved her body, “More beautiful than any elleth that has ever lived.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks, her lips curving in glee. His nose twitched, and she chuckled.

“I smell like an elf.”

Her words teased a smile from him, his nose wrinkling, “Aye, you do. I prefer it when you smell of me.”

“As do I, husband,” she coyly tipped her head, hair tipping over her shoulders, tumbling down her chest like an ink stain.

“Your hair, it is the deepest black.” His fingers reached out, stole a lock and rubbed it between his fingers. “So unlike my people. It shines like polished onyx.”

She watched him, seeing a melancholy drift over his face. Her husband stood in this room, but his eyes told her he was far away.

Something had happened.

She stepped closer, offering him a teasing smile he could barely return. She reached up on tiptoe, pressed a kiss to his frozen lips.

His nostrils flared at the cloying honeysuckle and lavender that perfumed the air. It cooled the ardour between them. Sinking back down, her hands linked around his neck she looked up into blue eyes muddied with concern.

She knew he would impart nothing until he was ready. Her husband clung to his control like he did his pride. Only once before had she seen this morose side, this vulnerability that shrouded him. They were no longer in the hobbit’s home, and right now she felt lost in how to help him.

She pulled away, took his hand. 

“Show me Rivendell?”

He nodded, leading her to the door. 

“I love you, Thorin.”

He stared at her, his eyes roaming her face intensely as though this was another of his keepsake moments. She gave him her warmest smile, the ones only for him.

“I love you, Wife.”

* * *

 

Males, be they dwarf, elf or man, were basal creatures. A woman need only simper in their direction, bat their eyelashes and ask questions about simple things that seemed beyond her comprehension to lure them into that false sense of masculine security.

Her father and his chieftains had fallen prey to this tactic many times and to this day had never realised what Shana had done.

Lord Elrond Halfelven was no different. The towering elf, clothed in sky blue robes with an air of intelligence and long-lived experience worn around him like a mantle, was ensnared as easily as a fly to the web.

Shana ate her dinner, her husband showing no disdain for the leafy meal. When first they ate here, he’d grumped about the lack of meat.

His silence was telling her a story, one he would not talk of, yet. Her ire over his fierce need for control raised the hairs on her nape, though she held back her temper.

Her curiosity, however, would not be held back, neither would her fierce loyalty and devotion to her husband’s wellbeing. The elf-lord and the wizard had met with him, and since then it felt as though she were sitting next to a diminished effigy of her husband.

She wanted to know why.

Taking the smallest sip from her wine glass, keeping her senses clear, she observed the elf-lord. 

“Rivendell is beautiful, My Lord.” She bowed her head politely. 

The elf returned it, “Thank you, My Lady.”

“The magic of the elves is inspiring, to bring such vitality to a valley that, perhaps, struggles so.”

Elrond smiled, his eyes twinkling at her recognition of his power. She smiled back, wide and toothy. 

“Such beauty in my land would make our hearts sing, my people have never seen such abundance.”

She could feel Thorin’s eyes boring into her, her hand slipped beneath the table, settled high on his thigh and squeezed. His fork clattered against the fragile china plate.

His head was bowed, his breathing uneven. Her touch, both welcome and not. She’d guessed what his reaction would be. Though it hurt to watch him excuse himself from the meal and join his company, it was the effect she’d sought.

“My apologies, My Lord,” she offered to Elrond. “My husband, he is…” she shrugged, eyes downturned, a sour mask slipping over her face. Tilting her face in his direction, she confided, “We spoke…” she shook her head, reached for her wineglass, fingers gripping the thin stem, eyes fluttering.

“It is understandable. I commend you for your high spirits in this situation. The gladness of new life, yet the separation of lovers. I understand his reaction too well, My Lady.”

Shana nodded, her thoughts spinning like the sand storms that devilled her people in the hot months. Every word he spoke was scrutinised, meanings and truths clicked into place.

Slowly her head rose, her brown eyes stared at Elrond, her face smoothed, lips thinning. His face began to pale, stretching taut, eyes widening.

“My Lady—”

“I wonder,” she interrupted, “If the circlet you wear, indicates your position?”

Thrown off by her words, his mouth flapped a little before he answered, “I am the Lord of Imladris.”

“Of course,” Shana spoke, “I, of course, wear no such thing,” she flapped her hand towards her head. 

“So, it is easy, My Lord, for many to forget.”

His eyes narrowed, the old elf unable, it seemed, to keep up with the conversation. 

“Forget?”

She nodded, “That I am a Queen.”

The Lord sat back in his chair, a new respect flashing in his eyes. His lips twitched.

“Well played, Your Majesty.” He swiped up his glass toasting her.

“Thank you.” She watched him, noted he was becoming uncomfortable with her scrutinisation.

“I think, Lord Elrond,” she snatched up her crystal glass, sipped the blood red wine, “That it is time you told me what has been said to my husband.”

* * *

 

It was Bofur who fetched him. The hatted dwarf, nearly yanking out his moustache, stuttered through his words.

Dwalin caught ‘drunk’ and ‘maudlin’ followed by ‘angry’ and ‘threatening.’

“Who?” he questioned.

Bofur paused in his worried spew, squinted, pointed behind him. “Are you not listenin’. Thorin, he’s well in his cups, he threatened Kíli. Had him by the scruff, so he did.”

Dwalin didn’t listen to the rest, he marched towards the large fountain and the alcove branching off to the right. Most of them had elected to sleep there. He rounded the corner and saw a red-faced Kíli on one side, straightening his crumpled collar and Thorin on the other.

Fíli sat with his Uncle, casting worried looks at his brother and anyone else who was paying attention. Everyone was, even though they tried to pretend they weren’t. Including the elven guards across the walkway, their damned elvish eyes and ears likely picking up every move and word.

“I need not be told by some Pup, that I am a fool. I am a King. My orders are to be obeyed.”

The dwarf tipped to the side as he reached for his goblet. Fíli was quick from his seat, catching Thorin, pushing him straight, holding his shoulder to keep the drunk in his place.

“Uncle, we were raised on the tales of Erebor, you cannot deny him this quest.” Fíli’s plea a soft entreaty, his body stiffening, a wariness in the young one, leery how his Uncle would respond.

What in Mahal’s hairy arse-crack was going on?

Dwalin ran his hand down his face, wondering if he understood the snatch of conversation. Kíli had been ordered to leave the quest? Why?

He searched over his shoulder, and Bofur edged up, whispering in his ear.

He scratched his bald head at Bofur’s words. Nothing made sense, the eve had started well, and now the world had descended into chaos.

Thorin’s hand moved to his sword, his slurred words became loud and boisterous. He thrust up from his seat, swaying, slapping away his nephew’s helping hands.

“I am the King! I will be obeyed!”

Dwalin knew what was about to happen. He marched across the floor. Thorin tried to pull his sword, but both hands became tangled in each other.  His spine snapped straight, his eyes rolled back, the chair slid sideways, and Dwalin caught the slumping dwarf in his arms.

He didn’t look forward to delivering this package back to their new Queen.

* * *

 

Dwalin squinted down at the petite lass.

“You want me to…What?”

Shana stared up at him unblinking. His height and bulk not intimidating to her. Instead, she sighed, waved at the slumped form, “You think it would be better he be left like this?”

Dwalin looked to his friend. Thorin snored, shifted, scratched his balls and slapped his lips.

“Aye, well, right now he’s not at his best. But, what you’re asking me to do.” Dwalin shook his head, “I know him, he’d react badly.”

“And you think when he awakens, and you leave on your quest, that he will be in a kinder mind?”

No. Dwalin knew for sure that when they continued, Thorin would be in a worse mood, and it would not get better. Thorin Oakenshield in a snit was bad enough, with a furious fire lit in his belly. Well, Dwalin had experience of watching his friend near destroy himself before.

He wasn’t the only one to notice the change in their King. Shadows of the past no longer lingered in his eyes. His shoulders no longer hunched under the burden of being what his people needed. His spirit was no longer crushed.

This lass brought his brother, in all but blood, back to him, back to life itself. If the lass thought she had a way of helping, he could at least try, for his King’s sake, and for the sake of their quest.

He nodded, rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Well, he thought, might as well get it done before Thorin awoke. He cast a look at the lass, she was brave little one for sure.

* * *

 

Dwalin marched out the room, shutting the door carefully, hitching the latch. 

He walked to Shana, a large clump of material in his hands. 

“I..er..here.” He held out the bundle of clothing.

“I think it would be better for you to keep them for this night.”

The dwarf warrior shrugged, “It won’t matter lass, he’s got no problem running around in his birthday suit.”

Shana reached out, smoothing her hand over the soft pelt of her husband’s coat.

“I have to try,” remembering Dwalin’s presence she flicked her gaze up to his steel eyes. “I cannot lose him.”

Dwalin huffed a breath, glare shooting from her to the horizon, “You’ll never lose him, lass, if you just abide his wants.”

She wished she could make this dwarf understand, but she could barely understand her motives. All she knew, was that she had to try.

“Thank you,” she bowed her head to him in respect.

“Lass, you may not be thanking me before this night’s through.”

She smiled, knew it was brittle. A deep breath in and she edged past Dwalin, he grabbed her hand.

“If you need me, lass, you come to me.” He swallowed, “I’ll no let him hurt you.”

She bowed her head once more, his concern touched her. She wanted to state that her husband would never hurt her, but right now, she couldn’t be sure. Her plan could come undone in a spectacular way. She hoped not, but she knew his reaction would not be pleasant.

“I have to try,” she told herself again, eased out of the grasp and walked towards her room.

Inside, a single lantern burned, casting the room in near shadow, highlighting the bed. It reminded her of the first night she shared her body and soul with her husband. Becoming his had caused an awakening in her heart. One she embraced, held tight in her memories. Thorin called his memories ‘keepsakes.’ 

Tonight, Shana could lose everything. A slash of pain through her heart, her inner voice warning her. No, she thought, she could not give in now. She would show him, make him believe, she was strong, stronger than he knew. 

Stepping forward she stopped at the edge of the bed and stared at her husband.

Her eyes greedily examining every curve, line, crease of his flesh.His body wide, his musculature pronounced. Honed by his years as a warrior and a blacksmith. Skin, pale between patches of dark hair, only his face and neck, and the small V on his chest touched by the kiss of the sun.

Now laid before her, bare as the day he was born, spread out, arms up, legs parted. Each limb slack, restful, and unknowing that they were tied to the posts of the bed. 

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left awesome reviews. Enjoy this chapter. 
> 
> Author's note: This will be the last multi-chapter story for the AV universe. From now on I will only be posting one-shots and drabbles.
> 
> A very big thank you to everyone that has read so far. This story has passed the two thousand hit mark and it's all down to you amazing people. Big love and hugs to you all ❤️

* * *

 

 

Thorin awoke, and wished he hadn’t. The painful stab of a pounding headache vibrated through his body, from his toes to the ends of his hair. He groaned. Had his head been used as a battering ram?

He shifted his hand down, needing to wipe his face. The lack of movement, the feel of tethering rubbing his skin made him look up. Flax rope, thrice braided, secured his wrists. He yanked, and the double-looped knot cinched tight, scoring a redness into his skin.

Relaxing his arm loosened the rope’s grip. He knew this type of binding, knew only one dwarf who would tie anyone this way. The only question in his thumping head now, why would Dwalin need to tie him down?

He inched his head up, finding the room empty. The golden flicker of scented candles, half melted, dotted the room. Their cloying perfume twitched his nostrils. The cool breeze of approaching dawn wafted over him, prickling his skin; coarse hair rose along his naked body. His sensitivity warned him of his bound ankles.

Dwalin knew how to secure a prisoner, and these knots were his best. Escaping would not happen soon, if at all.

The tap of the wooden latch and the door opened allowing a small figure, wrapped in black, to glide through the slender gap. A large silver ewer held in her hands, his wife made his way to a table holding a small china basin.

The tinkle and splash of falling water as she filled the bowl then slid the metal jug on the table. His wife paid him no heed, dropping a square cloth into the water, she swirled it around and wrung it between delicate hands. Shana wiped her face, her moves slow, deliberate.

“Am I to wait for an explanation?” he asked.

Rather than answer, Shana plucked at the black dress she wore. Thorin swallowed, unsure of her mood. He should be angry right now, but watching her hands gather the material in her hands, slide it up her legs to her thighs, higher. His mouth fell open, breaths heavy. She revealed her body bit by bit, the top of her thighs, her cleft. His mouth dried at the sight of the thin strip of hair that led to her sweetness.

Her stomach, up and up, to the swell of her breasts. He lost sight of her face as she pulled the dress off and dropped it beside her. A subtle shift of her body presented him with one full breast, tipped by her pointed nipple, an uninterrupted view up her inner thigh, the curve of her lower lips.

He licked his lips a thirst on him for something other than water. To quench himself on her, in her. To suckle her lush ripeness. All this sensation too much for his frazzled mind.

Thorin tugged brutally at his bindings, red sores blooming, the pulsing in his head moved to his lower half, his cock shot up, his balls heavy as stones. Nothing could deter him from breaking free.

Shana picked up her wet cloth and drizzled it over her chest. Thorin froze, his eyes followed the droplets racing down her breasts, clinging to stiffened nipples, before splashing to the floor.

Some fell to her belly and tracked wet trails over the gentle curve to her centre glistening like diamonds, moistening her. Others spattered her thighs and rolled to her knees.

He could taste her scent in the air, sweet with a bite of spice. He gritted his teeth, pulled back his lips in a feral growl.

“Shana,” he snarled. “Wife!” His imagination reminded him of how she felt surrounding him.

“Husband.” Her gentle voice calmed the beast inside, but nothing could contain the fire spreading through his limbs. She climbed atop him, her hands spread over his chest, up to his neck, his face. She became the balm dousing the flames. A tremble took up in his body. She smoothed her fingers over his lips.

“Shhh,” she soothed.

She rose up, dragged her nails down his ribs, the small sting of pain left him on edge. She moved back settling on his thighs, her hands traced down to his shaft, circling it with her delicate fingers.

He clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, growling every breath. Her touch akin to fire as her fingers tightened. One hand dropped away, and he had little time for mercy before she began fondling his sac. His balls heavy and swollen as his urge to climax gathered at the base of his spine, sweat trickled down his brow.

She mapped him slowly. Learning every part of his hardness, running short nails over every ridge and vein. Circling the head and brushing a thumb over the sensitive slit. She wiped his slickness over his shaft, cinched tight around him and slid her hand down. All the time she rolled his balls in her hand, weighing them, sliding a finger up between his sac and shaft massaging him.

It was too much, and he threw back his head growling her name. He needed to finish, but he wanted to be inside her. He needed to see her soft, radiant look once more. Wanted it burned into his memory so that he would see it every time he closed his eyes.

Her movements stopped, and sanity returned to him. Shana observed his body before glancing at him. A slow blink of her eyes and a fine smirk of her lips told Thorin what was coming next.

He shook his head. No, this would be a torture he could not endure while tied to this damnable bed.

Shana bent over him, and her lips parted. Thorin smashed his head back and stared at the ceiling, eyes wide and praying for his ropes to magically disappear.

The first hot, wet, touch of her mouth and his hips tried to buck. His legs, tied as they were, gave him no leverage to control what she did. She slowed her descent on him. Her breath teased him, one hand rubbing him, the other clenching his balls.

He could feel his cock swelling and only gained a little control when she pulled up. Only for her to begin his punishment anew. This time, the flat of her tongue slipping around the head, stopping on the underside to swipe at a sensitive area she’d discovered, before licking down the thick vein to his sac.

He begged and pleaded with mindless growls and moans. His body was out of his control and under hers. Every time he reached his near pinnacle, she would stop and pull away. His wrists felt the pinch of the ropes, his ankles the same, somehow the burn magnified his pleasure. It zinged through each limb meeting in his lower back, doubling back and rushing to every part of his body.

Thorin shook his head, his words meaningless growls. Her hand gripped his shaft and slid it over her juncture coating him with her wetness. She rubbed her slickness over his cock. Barely, she sheathed the head of him inside her. He clenched his eyes shut, his passion for her spawned a frenzy in his soul.

“No,” he cried. His control hung by a frayed thread. He feared what his lust could do to her in her delicate condition.

“Trust me, husband.” The tranquil lilt offered such innocence to him. He could not accept, though, not while she carried such treasure within her.

“Shana… there is…”

“Our child is safe.”

His eyes burst open staring into hers. Guilt jostled his crowded emotions, the war within spiking a derision for his bad choices.

“Trust me,” she implored. “Trust us. He is strong, like his father.”

The blur of his tears gave her face a misty shimmer. Her hand reached up wiping them away.

“We make our own choices, husband. Alone we are broken. Together, we are unbreakable.”

He threw his head back letting out the shattering fury that had invaded him the day before.

Slick heat surrounded him as her body joined to his. Their union unhurried, his control shored as they became one. Shana rose up, her hands pressed to his chest, nails digging in. Her hips circled lazily, sinking she took all of him while her eyes remained on his.

So deep he resided in her, Thorin was sure he touched the tenderness of her spirit. Her mewl of pleasure and gasping breath, her quivering breasts and trembling hands, enflamed him to greater heights. Their love-making had never been this complex, yet this simple. She was everything to him. Without her, there would only ever be darkness.

His cock throbbed inside her. “Faster,” he begged.

She thrust down, and he watched her inch back up, his shaft drenched in her creamy juices. Soon the sight became too much; coupled with the sting of hands and ankles bitten by ropes, his body came apart in delicious rapture. His bellow merged with her scream.

He should care that she collapsed on top of him, her heavy breaths moist against his throat, and he unable to lock her in his arms.

He should care that she’d had him tied to bedposts and likely stripped naked by Dwalin.

He should care about many things, but they were all trivial and forgivable. After all, had he not committed more grievous errors than she?

“I suppose this means you know everything.”

Her laugh vibrated through his ribs; he cursed the slight stirring in a sore part of his body that wasn’t a limb.

Shana shifted, pulling herself up his body using his wide shoulders as leverage, to reach his wrists.

“I was afraid of your reaction to these,” she confessed as her fingers teased the knots undone.

“I would never harm you.” One hand free, he shook out the lingering stiffness and teased her hair behind one pert ear. The urge to nibble and suck her lobe forced him to look elsewhere.

His other hand free, Thorin helped his wife to slide to his side, he sat up with a groan and started work on his ankles. The red sores made him smile. They would take a few days to fade, but they served as a pleasant reminder for now.

“I’m sorry,” his wife apologised. A finger tracked the bruising.

Thorin could have made more of her guilt if he wanted. “Don’t be,” he replied. “They are symbols of my love for you.”

“How?” Her frown wrinkled her perfect forehead, and he smoothed his fingers over the lines.

“They remind me I am forever tied to you.” His glance dropped to her stomach. “I should have told you.”

“Don’t.” Shana’s fingers stalled his lips. “My anger was never truly for you. The elf and the wizard had no right in forcing you into a decision you did not agree with. I could sense the breaking of your spirit.”

“I take it this was your way of fighting for me?” he smiled.

“I will let no one tear us apart, Thorin. Together, we will greet our people at Erebor and reclaim our home.”

He liked that very much. Our people. Our home. They were united. His warrior wife had the right of it. Together they were unbreakable.

 

* * *

 

“Thorin, this is foolishness.”

“Enough,” he snapped. Thorin paid no mind to the grumpy look the old wizard wore. The elf lord showed no emotion, but his gaze had been wary when it landed on Shana. He’d ask her for the story later.

“You have your choice, Gandalf. I will continue on this quest even if you should choose not to.”

“My lady—”

“You will have no better luck there, wizard,” Thorin cautioned.

The wizard harrumphed and stomped away. A smirking Lord Elrond, who bowed low to his wife, followed at a serene pace.

Thorin spotted his nephews over by the fountain. Shana squeezed his hand, and he knew he had amends to make.

“I’ll be back shortly.” He kissed her temple.

The brothers perched on the low wall, dark patches of water spray decorated their shoulders; drops glinted in their hair. Kíli stared at the floor, his face miserable like he’d been told off by his mother.

Fíli seemed more approachable, and Thorin opened the conversation with him.

“Fíli, I’m —”

“I’m staying with my brother.”

Thorin snapped his mouth closed. Fili’s anguish sharpened his tone, the young dwarf fidgeted, and Thorin knew his eldest nephew would hear nothing else.

“Perhaps, I should start with an apology,” Thorin explained. “It would seem my actions have wounded many.”

Kíli launched from the wall and marched pass. Thorin snagged his shoulder, the muscles beneath his fingers tightened. Kíli fisted his hands, his body stiff and unmovable.

“Allow me to explain,” Thorin whispered.

“Unless you're telling us we aren’t to stay in Rivendell. I have nothing to say to you, Uncle.”

His voice, that of a young dwarf, barely of age and still clinging to his childhood showed Thorin how deep his nephew’s hurt rooted in him.

“Aye, you’re not staying.” Thorin tugged Kíli around to face him, surprised at the effort it took. “Last night was not one of my better moments.”

“So, who will guard our queen?” Fíli asked, sidling up to Thorin’s other side.

Their queen. How had he not seen this building loyalty to her? Foolish of him not to notice, when his loyalty worshipped at her feet. Should it dismay him that others loved his wife as much as he did?

“No one, Fíli,” he answered, watching Kíli’s reaction. “Our queen will not be staying either,” Thorin added quickly, the thinning lips and reddening cheeks of his youngest nephew warning him of the rage bubbling beneath the surface.

Like water dousing a flame, Kíli’s fury extinguished and tensed muscles slackened; his body shifted closer to his uncle. No matter his age, and knowing because no one from the company would see, Thorin wrapped an arm around Kíli and brought him closer.

The lad had always been more tactile than his brother. Dís always sought the young one out for a hug, despite ardent false-protests in front of his friends, Kíli favoured closeness.

“Forgive me, Kíli?” he whispered. “I’m a fool, in love with my wife.” He turned to encompass both dwarves in his long reach. Unsure how his next words would be taken, he tightened his grip.

“My wife is with child.”

Both jerked with surprise, and Thorin bowed his head hoping the news would not cause another breach between them. Two young dwarves surrounded him, arms hugging him, as each whispered their congratulations. Though Kíli commented he was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. Thorin raised a brow; it seemed his nightly activities on the journey didn’t go as unnoticed as he’d hoped.

“My husband.”

All three turned to their queen, her radiant face brighter than the morning sun.

“Gandalf, he says that tonight you must seek Lord Elrond’s counsel and that we are to be ready.”

He nodded, then opened his arms and beckoned her over. The three dwarves enveloped Shana between them, each praising her for the life within her.

A glance at Fíli showed his utter happiness, his smile wide and crooked hiding nothing. He should have come to them all first. He should have taken counsel from his family. After all, they were the ones that truly mattered. This quest was for them. The search for a better life for all.

Thorin would take Shana to his room soon, but for now, he stayed in this haphazard pile soaking in their love and warmth.

 


End file.
